Prodigal Son
by RedRangerNat
Summary: A soldier returns to find that everything has changed. His home is demolished by a dragon, his family is nowhere to be found, and his shield-brother, Ulfric Stormcloak, is an enemy of the Empire. The Prodigal Son now has to take up the mantle of an ancient legend and decide the fate of his homeland. The wheel turns upon the last Dragonborn, and Vithar's life will never be the same.
1. Homeward

**Disclaimer: Nope, I'm not Bethesda. Sorry, not the owner. Just borrowing. I promise.**

Prologue

Homeward

Home was not the bustle of a city filled with action and shouting and chaos. Home was not the sound of a street lined with merchants and brimming with sales, with gleaming Imperial soldiers marching off to a faraway destination in the service of a weak Emperor. Home was not the timbre of her voice, lazily asking him, accusing him, really, when he would marry her, and exclaiming in a loud and shrill and furious voice that he was a good-for-nothing ex-soldier with too much gold and not enough determination when he refused to speak.

Home was the sound of the courier catching him outside his small home with a worn letter, a letter that smelled of pine trees, of his brother's particular ink. Home was the anger that rose up in his throat when he read "Bandits again, my brother. They keep raiding our village because the Jarl refuses to solve our border crisis" and heartache sinking into his gut when he read "Father is ill. The healer says he is plagued with bone break fever. We have no money for potions, but we hear you are faring well in Cyrodiil. We miss you, and we want to see you. It pains my pride to beg of you, younger brother…"

Home was not in Cyrodiil, in the Imperial City, in her arms. Home was in Skyrim, in Helgen, with his brother, sister, and father. He had not been home since he was barely of age, fighting in a war for an Empire that buckled under the weight of golden-skinned Mer. He had not fought another battle since that day he helped liberate the Imperial City alongside a young man older than he was then, clad in Imperial armor with bear's fur draping off his shoulders like the cloak of a barbarian.

Even then, he could hear the exclamations the man uttered from his throat in a strange tongue, the way the Elves couldn't stand against the translucent blue tidal wave that ripped itself from his lungs. How the soldiers around him shouted, "The true Nord among us! The son of Skyrim!"

For a long time, he wished he could wield such legendary power. The songs sang of the Dragonborn, wielding power not unlike the Ancient Nords who now rest in barrows under the ground of beautiful Skyrim. Would this power be able to save his father from dying?

And now, as he looked past the border on the steed he had bought, horse reins held tightly in his rough hands, he took in a deep breath, blue-grey eyes shut, and shouted. Not the Shout of the Son of Skyrim, but of the Prodigal Son:

"I, Vithar Eagle-Feather, have come home at last!"

**And so begins the story of Vithar Eagle-Feather, and thus my first fanfic. I know this is awfully short, but you know, it's past midnight here and I'm pretty exhausted. Been a long day. But I figured I'd at least get something put on this site to appease anyone who actually...you know...found my profile. This is just the beginning. Helgen awaits, my beautiful Nord Vithar, and your destiny as well...**

**His quest will follow the Main Quest and Civil War (DUH) as well as Thieves' Guild, a bit of Dark Brotherhood, and if I want to, the Companions. I haven't gotten that far in-game. I just got Dragonborn for PC...so you can expect a Dragonborn story to follow up after this is done. I have it all mapped out in my head.**

**So stay tuned, dear reader!**


	2. Of Gods and Dragons, Pt I

Chapter One

Of Gods and Dragons, Pt. 1

The forests of the Rift came alive with the sounds of pounding hooves, of a man who hummed a song of home in his heart. Home was not too far away, Vithar thought to himself as he cracked a lopsided grin, feeling the tight skin around his scarred face strain itself to try and stretch. The scar, he had gotten from a bear ambush a year ago, while on a quest to save the innkeeper's daughter. That same daughter who fell in love with him and left scars on his heart.

According to the worn map he still carried, he passed by Shor's Stone, opting to take the northern route to go around the cliffs, avoiding the Spriggans he saw near a grove of trees. His Cyrodilic horse wasn't bred for stamina like the horses of Skyrim, so he had to rest periodically. However, he still managed to get around the cliffs just before the sun began to set.

Brushing the strands of his blond hair from his face, he absentmindedly grazed his calloused fingers alongside the scars that trailed from his cheek down across his lips. The same lips she kissed. He shuddered, realizing that the same innkeeper he was apprenticed to was probably out seeking his blood right now. Not very many fathers like it when their daughter's boyfriend leaves in the dead of night…

His hand went down to his belt, where a black, curved dagger rested in its sheath. The dagger had been a family heirloom, his father claimed as he handed it to Vithar years before, when he was preparing to leave for the Great War. No blacksmith in Tamriel could recognize the blade, so Vithar had to sharpen it himself. Not that he minded, since he loved the trade.

The letter his brother wrote still rested in his pocket, the burden of family keeping him grounded on Nirn. Come Oblivion or high water, he would reach his father with aid. The red bottles of curing potions clinked in the saddlebags of his horse.

"I'll get home soon," Vithar muttered, lightly kicking the sides of his brown steed to push forward.

A small brown fox darted out from the undergrowth, startling the horse. Vithar held on tightly, "Hold, girl…steady now! Steady…" As he saw the fox, adrenaline coursed through his body. He reached behind him, the wood of a polished hunting bow meeting his grip. Pulling it free from its holdings, he retrieved a steel arrow from the quiver he kept on his lower back and nocked it to the string. The fox had barely gone a few steps before being impaled through the eye and to a tree trunk.

Vithar's expertise with the bow earned him the trust of his Legates. His preference for eagle feathered arrows earned him his title: Eagle-Feather. The rarest type of bird in Cyrodiil and Skyrim, eagle plumes were hard to come by, but Vithar's pockets ran pretty deep.

As he dismounted the horse and tied the reins to a nearby tree, his leather boots stamping onto the springy dirt, he stretched his hands upward, replacing the bow on his back as he walked to the fox's quivering body, still shaking in its death-throes. He pulled the arrow out with a sickening crack of the fox's skull, and wiped it clean on the nearest leaf before placing it in its quiver. He took out his knife, admiring the gleam of the dying light on the ebony blade before he began the arduous cleaning process.

After a few minutes, the blood of the fox running down the slight hill, Vithar held the intact pelt of his first kill since leaving Cyrodiil. His father would be so proud of his son for his hunting prowess. After cleaning the pelt of any tissues or blood, he placed it in his game bag, leaving the meat for a lone wolf, thin and sickly, who snarled at him nearby. Hunter he may be, he still had the heart of an animal lover.

Returning to his steed, he mounted it, only to stop as he picked up the sound of hooves slamming into the dirt. His left hand went to his bow, his right to the dagger in his belt. No one should be in this area…not at this time. The forest was dangerous in the evening hour. Who could this be?

_"We'll drive out the Empire from this land that we own…"_ a song wafted through the air, sung by a chorus of men. _"With our blood and our steel we will take back our home…"_

Suddenly the entire forest came alive with the triumphant proclamation, _"All hail to Ulfric! You are the High King! In your great honor we drink and we sing…"_

_Wait…Ulfric? As in…Stormcloak?_ Vithar thought as he removed his hands from his weapons and slid into his horse's saddle. _Maybe these soldiers are friends._

The pounding of hooves came ever closer, slowing to a leisurely trot as a thick Nordic voice cut into the song, "Halt! Who goes there?!"

In the sunset, Vithar's sharp eyes met the dark eyes of a beastly-looking man, clad in chainmail wrapped by a blue sash, mounted on a brown, sturdy-looking horse, obviously bred in Skyrim.

"You know of Ulfric?" Vithar's deep voice asked, and the rest of the group emerged from the trees, all mounted on horses. Vithar counted six of them, all dressed like the Nord who approached him. Some had helmets, obscuring their faces, others did not. Heavy iron greatswords, battle-axes, and iron swords were all drawn, while one Nord woman in the back had an iron arrow pointed straight at his heart.

"I said, you know of Ulfric?" Vithar repeated with a loud emphasis. The group looked at each other, and burst into laughter.

"What are you, Nord, dense in the head?" a Nord man in the back, carrying the greatsword, sheathed it and guffawed. He wore no helmet, showing thick blond hair not unlike Vithar's that curled just above his shoulders. "Jarl Ulfric is our leader! Of course we know him!"

"I served alongside him," Vithar continued. "In the Great War. I have not seen him since the day we liberated the Imperial City!"

The blond Nord's laughter died out, and he narrowed his eyes at Vithar, "You look too young to have served then, brother."

"That's because he was barely a man then," a deep voice wafted through the air, and Vithar's mind instantly recognized the voice, "Ulfric, you shouting bastard, is that you?"

From the back of the convoy appeared a weathered man, with his dirty blond hair slicked back behind his head. Bear's fur draped across his noble clothing, and a smug look on his face indicated that he recalled Vithar.

"You look old," Vithar snorted.

"Is that how you address Jarl Ulfric?" the blond Nord with the greatsword exclaimed, but Ulfric silenced him, "Ralof, he is an old friend of mine. We were shield-brothers in the retaking of the Imperial City. His marksmanship saved my life more than once."

"And his Shouts saved mine," Vithar placed a fist over his heart and gave a slight bow. Ulfric repeated the gesture.

"So where are you headed?" Vithar asked as the convoy picked up their pace, falling in line next to Ulfric as they went, heading west.

"Darkwater Crossing," Ulfric answered, and as Vithar gave him a strange look, he continued, "I have a meeting with some of the miners there. A bit of a trade agreement, if you will. But what of you, Vithar? Last I saw you, you opted to live in Cyrodiil for a time."

"Aye," Vithar nodded. "My father has fallen ill with a terrible fever, so I'm headed to Helgen to meet him with a few potions. My brother requested my aid."

"We are going to continue northward, back to Windhelm," Ulfric spoke. "Our paths may split at the Crossing. But you are more than welcome to come to Windhelm. I will be sure to prepare a place for such an honored guest as yourself."

Vithar chuckled deep in his throat, "Ulfric, you wouldn't think I forgot about the mead you owe me still? After how many years? Of course I'll take your offer up. As soon as my father is well, I will make the trip."

Ralof rode up next to Ulfric on his left, pointing, "Jarl Ulfric, look ahead, we have reached Darkwater Crossing."

"Here's hoping the miners have prepared a place for us," Ulfric stopped his horse. "It's late, Vithar, so you're welcome to stay the night with my soldiers and I. In the morning, you can continue to Helgen."

"The forests are dangerous at night," Vithar nodded. As they approached the Crossing, something in the area around them made Vithar's blood run cold. He looked around, first at Ulfric, then at the surrounding area, "Ulfric…do you feel-"

Then, all of Oblivion broke loose.

_"For the Empire!" "Sovngarde awaits!" "Freeze, traitors!"_ Imperial soldiers swarmed the convoy from the darkness, some on horses, while others brandished heavy steel weapons of varying types. Three mages, two archers, and a Legate completed the group of about thirty different soldiers.

"Jarl Ulfric, I _highly_ recommend you surrender," the Legate, an Imperial, smirked. "Killing Torygg was your worst mistake."

_"What have you done?"_ Vithar looked at Ulfric, incredulous. He looked at the Imperials in shock, and hopped off his steed, approaching the Legate, "Legate, I am one of the veterans. I was just-"

The sturdy hilt of a battle-axe met the back of his skull, and Vithar crumbled into the black.

**Now we're getting somewhere. Sorry if any of the locations are iffy. Just pretend that's the way the game map looks. ;) Hold on, I'm putting the next chapter up in a few hours. But I'm sure you all know how it all goes...**


	3. Of Gods and Dragons, Pt II

**Heads up, this is a long chapter...but a necessary one. I think so anyways...**

**Insert disclaimer here.**

Chapter Two

Of Gods and Dragons, Pt. 2

Stars danced in his eyes as he began to open them, wincing at the sudden light of day. A steady drumbeat rumbled in his brain, the throbbing intensifying even more as he came to full consciousness. And that was when Vithar jolted alive.

He hurriedly glanced around, seeing three other men with him on a carriage being pulled by a light-armored Imperial soldier and a horse. Slowly his memory came back. Slowly.

"Hey, you," a familiar voice came from the mouth of a familiar blond Nord. "_Finally_ awake. Didn't think you were going to make it for a while. Damned Imperial hit you too hard…"

"What happened?" Vithar grumbled. He looked over to see a dark-headed Nord with dirt and dark paint around his eyes, bound by the wrists.

"You were unconscious," Ralof (okay, that was his name, Vithar mentally recalled) continued. "It's been a day since the ambush. We were caught alongside this horse thief."

Vithar stared right at Ralof, panic rising in his blood, _"A day?!"_

And that was when he noticed his hands were bound and his clothing replaced with a ragged tunic and shoes. "No, no, no," Vithar buried his face in his hands. "This can't be real. I have to get to my father!"

"…Empire was nice and lazy…" the horse thief's voice cut into the agony, and Vithar glared at him, then past him and to the sky, where he bit his lip in frustration. He looked to his right, and to his surprise, Ulfric was there, bound in the same manner as Vithar, but without the change of clothing. A thick, knotted gag kept his voice muffled. Perhaps that was to prevent him from Shouting. Ulfric gave him a sympathetic look, an apology in his eyes.

"You there…you and me," the horse thief addressed Vithar. "We shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants."

Vithar lowered his head to meet the thief's gaze, but Ralof muttered, "We're all brothers and sisters in binds now…thief." He spat the last word with contempt. The Imperial driving the carriage silenced them.

For a while the ride was silent, save for the muffled tears of a Stormcloak (that was the name of Ulfric's army, I assume, Vithar noted) woman in the cart ahead of them, and the consolation of the Stormcloak next to her. As he looked ahead, he suddenly realized just where they were.

"What's wrong with him, huh?" the horse thief pointed to Ulfric, who gave an incredulous look to the thief.

Ralof responded in a fierce voice, catching both Vithar and the thief in surprise, "Watch your tongue! You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King!"

"Ulfric…the Jarl of Windhelm?" the thief's brain began to click slowly, but realization soon came to him. "You're the leader of the rebellion. If they captured you…oh, Gods, where are they taking us?!"

"I don't know where we're going…but Sovngarde awaits," Ralof said with sadness etching his voice.

Vithar's eyes widened as they rounded the corner, a watchtower in the distance. Ralof noted this and asked, "You know of our location?"

"We're going to Helgen," Vithar breathed out. "Damn it, we're going to Helgen! To my home!"

Ulfric gave a slight mutter, but no one could understand him. Vithar watched as the keep came into full view. The giant oaken doors split open, revealing a home he had not seen in years. He left as a soldier. Now he returned as a fugitive, marked for death. Vithar silently prayed to Arkay for a swift and painless end, and to Talos for strength.

The horse thief sputtered and panicked, but Ralof hushed him. The two continued conversing as they pulled into Helgen, and Vithar looked around for his childhood home, hoping that the Gods still had some mercy and would spare his ailing father from…

Wait, where did his equipment go? His brother's letter, his black dagger…the potions? As they pulled into the dirt next to the other cart, Vithar hopped out, asking the Imperial driver where his items were. The Imperial spat at his feet in response.

"…Lokir of Rorikstead…" a Nord dressed in Imperial armor checked off the list, standing next to a captain. The coward Lokir took off instead of facing his death with pride, and got an arrow in his back as a result. Ralof snorted as he walked to the group massing at the chopping block, "Good riddance."

Vithar met the Imperial Nord, who gave a small smile in apology for sending him to Sovngarde in his hometown. No one recognized him, though. No one shouted, "That's Hergi's boy! Vithar! Don't execute him, he's one of you!"

As Ulfric was addressed by what looked to be like the new General, Tulius, he gave a sad glance around his home, taking in the sights for the last time. They chopped off the head of one of the Stormcloaks before the Priestess even finished her rites. The townsfolk heckled the Stormcloaks, as Legate Rikke shouted his name. Even after a strange sound echoed around the keep, not unlike a wild roar, she shouted for his demise as he placed his head on the block, guided there by her hand. He imagined the face of the innkeeper's daughter, and wished he could have at least told her goodbye one final time.

This was how the story of Vithar should have ended. At the blade of an executioner. That was…until myth became reality.

From the skies fell a great black…thing…no, dragon? A black dragon landed on the keep with a triumphant snarl, shouting in a strange language that seemed to burst forth in fire, killing the executioner and sending his homeland into chaos.

"Get up!" Ralof shouted as Vithar staggered back, getting up from the block where he should have died. "Follow me, Vithar! Into the tower, let's go!"

How Vithar managed to even hear what his fellow Nord had to say was astounding, and proof of his uncanny hearing. How he managed to chase after Ralof while he made way for the tower right behind him, with a Gods-damned dragon chasing his heels with fire erupting from its throat, was another testament to his endurance. Soon, he staggered into the tower, and met Ulfric once again, now free of his bindings and his cloth gag. Around his feet were burnt and heavily bleeding Stormcloak soldiers, tended to by a couple of uninjured comrades.

"Vithar, we have to get out of here, now!" Ulfric commanded, as Vithar saw remnants of the higher-ranking soldier emerge from his hiding place. "The others can meet us outside the gates. Ralof-!"

"What in Oblivion _was_ that thing?!" Ralof howled, interrupting Ulfric's speech. "I thought dragons were just legends!"

"Legends don't burn down villages," Ulfric repeated calmly, as all three of them heard the screams of burning villagers just outside.

"Go upwards, into the tower!" Ulfric commanded just after a few agonizing seconds. "Now!"

"Follow me!" Ralof jumped ahead and onto the staircase, spiraling upwards, and Vithar followed for a second time, just behind the soldier. A Stormcloak met them ahead, clearing the rubble from the fallen ceiling, "Hold on, let me just-!"

A whisper in Vithar's mind told him to grab Ralof by the shoulder, yanking him back as the beast from the pits of Oblivion broke through the sides of the tower, speaking fire at the unlucky soldier who was burnt alive before their eyes.

For a brief moment, the dragon and Vithar made eye contact. Red burning eyes to cool blue eyes, the two exchanged a tense, unsure moment, and for a minute, Vithar thought he was going to die. But the dragon took off, leaving a doorway for Vithar to jump onto the roof of a halfway-destroyed inn just below. Tucking his body in, he rolled to reduce the shock of a three-story drop and continued his momentum, pure adrenaline keeping him alive.

He jumped down from the second story of the building to the ground, almost running right into the dragon, which stared down a young boy and that damn Imperial who gave that damn smile at Vithar.

"Haming, son, come over here…now!" the Nord shouted at the boy, who shook in pure fright at the side of a fallen man. "Haming!"

The dragon studied the boy hungrily, and Vithar could almost sense its fangs separating, as that black maw opened…And at the last minute, Hadvar grasped the boy's arm and yanked him to safety, just as fire erupted and enveloped the body of the man Haming stood by.

"Come with me prisoner!" Hadvar shouted. "If you want to live, just stay by me!"

"I'd rather burn than take that offer!" Vithar shouted back, but his voice seemed to echo just a bit more than before. Hadvar took a step back, but shook his head in confusion.

"Look, just follow me, Captain Vithar!" Hadvar finally addressed him. "You helped save my father, so let me help you!"

He knows me? Vithar sputtered, but followed Hadvar after he insisted. Who was his father?

They sprinted across Helgen, alive with fire and death, the screams of soldiers as they were plucked from the wall, burnt alive by the dragon that soared over the town, and crushed under debris. Vithar sought out his father, but found none who resembled him. Could his father have survived this? Left earlier? Or…died before it all began.

"You damned _traitor_!" Hadvar exclaimed at the sight of Ralof, who glared at him, his eyes intensified by the dirt and soot blasted on his face.

Ralof scowled, "We're getting out of here, Hadvar, whether you like it or not. With me, Vithar!"

"Come with _me_, soldier!" Hadvar ran to one door while Ralof went to the other side.

The blood-curdling roar of death sent fire through his bones. He snarled, glaring at the dragon that wreaked havoc across his town. He looked to the two enemies, who kept yelling for him to come with them…

He found a dagger nearby, and picked it up with both hands, fumbling with it as he sawed through his bindings, freeing his hands. With blade in hand he ignored both of them and charged back into Helgen, leaving them to their own fates. He had a family to find.

An Imperial soldier fell not too far away from Vithar, and he pulled the dead soldier to the side of a somewhat stable building to change into his armor. The bow the dead soldier used had clattered to the dirt, so Vithar grasped the bow and clipped the quiver on over his back and sheathed the dagger. He charged ahead, knowing just where to go…

The home he had once known had not been damaged in the slightest, although it was close to the inn that Vithar had jumped through. He broke the door down, "Father?! Ludvir! Haela! Is _anyone_ here?!"

He looked around, seeing nothing but emptiness. The floors were barren, the walls completely devoid of any decorations. It was as if the place had been cleaned out…_Where in Oblivion did they go?!_ Vithar looked around, and noticed a tiny piece of paper stuck on an otherwise empty bookshelf. He quickly moved towards it, grasping it and tearing it open.

_Vithar,_

_If you see this letter, it means we have failed in reaching you before Father passed. We were promised the letter would reach you within the week, but it seems as if we misjudged the speed of our courier. Haela went to live with her fiancé in Riften, while I have gone with my dog to live near Solitude. Meet me in the forests near Dragon Bridge. We have much to discuss._

_Ludvir_

Not this…damn it, not like _this_…Vithar crumpled the letter in his fist, howling in anguish. The rafters shook, perhaps with his roar, or the fact that the dragon could hear him and was closing in. Vithar cleared the tears from his eyes and turned to the broken door, growling.

This damned dragon, the damn Imperials…damn _all_ of Tamriel! Vithar burst through his former home just before the fires consumed it. He took off in a dead run, leaving everything he had once known to burn in the flames that echoed the ones he felt in his heart.

The dragon, seemingly appeased with its destruction, took off into the sky, but not before catching a glance of the Nord who ran away from him. The black dragon gave a small dark chuckle and left him...for now.

**Yes, yes, I know. That's not how the quest goes. But it's fiction for a reason, and I hate writing the Unbound quest (as well as playing that dragon stone/golden claw quest)...so I took a few liberties with it. This is about as far as I go with adapting quests for my personal pleasures though. I promise I'll stay within game rules. I promise!**

**Although I wish I could have been given a third option to turn around and face Alduin...that could have been pretty interesting.**


	4. To The Falls

Chapter Three

To The Falls

Vithar ran, booted feet pounding the dirt as he heard the flap of ebony wings die away. He half expected to turn around and face the red-eyed legend just before getting snapped up in the beast's great jaws. To his surprise…he turned and saw the dragon as it flew higher into the sky, right above his head and over the mountains, into the horizon.

The stress of the day slowly began to creep up on Vithar as he slowed his pace down from a full-blown sprint into a slight jog, the adrenaline dying out in his veins. His whole body hurt, aching from the escape. His heart hurt as well. Perhaps it was better for his father to have died beforehand. He wouldn't have seen Vithar being carried home for an execution.

Speaking of execution, where in Oblivion did Ulfric and Ralof go? He looked around, finding himself on a cobblestone path that led by a stream. The mountains that the dragon flew over were just ahead of him, and he saw what looked to be like ruins of some sort. Vithar shuddered, "Damn Ancient Nordic ruins. Always full of Draugr…"

After the image of crawling Draugr faded from his mind, he continued on, walking along the trail until he came across three old Guardian stones. He stepped onto the pedestal, looking at all three of the stones. As his fingers grazed each of the worn stones, strange powers began flowing through his body, and he began to think of which one would aid him. Vithar paused for a moment, and placed both hands on the Thief stone, overwhelmed by the feeling of larceny coursing through his entire being. Images of Vithar sneaking through a barrow, polished bow in hand, as he took out each Draugr silently flickered in his mind before fading away.

_"Thief, eh? It's never too late to take charge of your own fate, you know."_

The voice startled Vithar, and he drew his steel dagger, only to find a blood-covered Ralof laughing slightly as he stood by a tree, "Calm _down_, soldier. It's just me."

Vithar sighed as he replaced his dagger, "I see you managed to escape with your life. What of the others?"

Ralof shook his head, "Only Jarl Ulfric and I managed to escape. Hadvar and another Imperial came in and _slaughtered_ the others. I _swear_, if I see him again…anyways, Jarl Ulfric is now en route to Windhelm, and I'm to warn the Jarl of Whiterun about this incident."

"I'll go with you," Vithar nodded, stepping off the pedestal and joining Ralof, who cringed at the sight of his borrowed armor. Vithar furrowed his brow, and took one look at his armor, and that of Ralof's, and laughed.

"Sorry…had to peel it off a dead Imperial," Vithar smiled and Ralof grimaced.

"At least it's something other than ragged clothes. Tell you what, follow me to Riverwood and I'll get you set up with something more…_appropriate_," Ralof began to walk, and Vithar kept by him.

After ten minutes of walking and conversing, Riverwood was now in sight. Ralof took in a deep breath and sighed in content, "Ah home. Windhelm may be my post now, but there's nothing like Riverwood."

As they walked into the small town, a mill-worker shouted from the top of the mill, "Is that you, Ralof?"

Ralof smiled and waved, "Gerdur! I'm home again."

In a moment's notice, Ralof was tackled by a Nord woman who bore a great resemblance to him, giving him a tight hug. She pulled away, "We heard some Stormcloaks were taken to Helgen…was that your group?"

Ralof nodded slowly, "Yes. Can we go and speak in private? I have much to discuss, but none of it should be made public. My friend will be joining us."

Gerdur took one look at Vithar and furrowed her brow, "An _Imperial_?"

Ralof shook his head, "No. _This_ lucky bastard managed to escape on his own. Took down an Imperial to take his armor in the process."

Vithar sputtered, trying to explain that wasn't exactly how it happened, but Gerdur smiled warmly at him, "Any friend to Ralof is a friend to me. Follow me. I'll get my husband."

As the three of them walked, Ralof turned to Vithar and explained, "Gerdur is my sister. She works the mill here. You're in good hands."

The three stood on a clearing just behind the mill, after Gerdur yelled at Hod to join them. Ralof chuckled, muttering a few words under his breath. Vithar didn't catch what he said, instead looking at the ruins on the mountain, but Gerdur smiled while scolding her brother.

Vithar turned to face the two siblings, brother and sister smiling warmly as the sister's husband walked up, dusting his rough hands on his apron. As they began to discuss the events at Helgen, Vithar thought of Riften, where he had recently crossed through just days ago. Could his little sister have been there, right under his nose? Then there was his younger brother, living near Solitude. Hopefully he was safe.

"Vithar?" Gerdur interrupted his thoughts, and Vithar's eyes focused again on the present moment. She smiled and went to hug him softly, breaking away after an awkward moment, "Thank you for keeping Ralof safe."

Vithar shrugged, "Well, I didn't do too much to help. I kind of left him out there."

Ralof laughed, "Damn _right_ you did!"

"If you need anything, just ask," Hod approached him, hand extended.

Vithar took it in a firm shake, "I'll just take some supplies and directions to Solitude and I'm set."

"You…_aren't_ joining the Imperials, are you?" Gerdur asked in warning, and Vithar shook his head.

"No, I have to find my brother," he said wistfully. "Father died before the dragon attack. I need answers."

* * *

Vithar entered the trading post and immediately felt the need to leave. Two Imperials were currently in the middle of an argument, the man leaning on the wooden counter while the woman stomped away to a nearby table.

"Look here, Camilla," the male sighed, scratching his black goatee. "You _aren't_ going after those thieves. Do you hear me?"

The woman, Camilla, raised a hand to silence him, "I'm a grown woman, Lucan. I don't need your permission. Are you _seriously_ going to just let them have the claw?"

Lucan grumbled under his breath, and then he saw Vithar. A shade of pink flushed his tan skin as he cleared his throat, "_Ah_…a customer. Sorry…about that. What can I help you with?"

Vithar furrowed his brow, "You were just robbed? Of what?"

Camilla leaned forward, "Lucan left his golden claw out and didn't think it was going to get stolen."

Vithar faced her, "Where do you think these thieves went?"

Lucan cleared his throat again, "The thieves went up to the Barrow. I had to stop chasing after them because my _sister_ would have been seriously injured."

"You took off crying after they entered the Barrow," Camilla scowled. "Something about Draugr being bad for business, but you were scared."

Vithar snorted in laughter, but straightened up after seeing Lucan's glare. He shrugged, "Well, I hate the Barrow too, but I can get the claw for you."

Lucan's face lightened up, "Great! I have a shipment of gold coming in. It's yours if you get my claw back."

Vithar nodded, and made to leave before Camilla stepped in, crossing her arms over her dress, "And I suppose you'll need an escort?"

The Nord smiled, and Lucan growled, "Oh…by the Eight, just _get out of here_! Only to the edge of town though. If you take a _step_ over that bridge, Camilla…"

But the closing of the store door answered him instead. He ran his hands over his face, "That sister will be the death of me…"

* * *

Camilla had told him how the thieves only took that claw, which puzzled Vithar greatly as he marched up the mountain to the Barrow, bow in hand. He saw a watchtower up ahead, and reminded himself to take a right at the tower.

_Bleak Falls Barrow sure looked a lot more intimidating from a distanc_e, Vithar thought to himself as he saw the towers rising up into the cloudy midday sky. Here, it just looked like a simple ruin. A ruin with plenty of Draugr and bandits.

He began walking up the stairs before a dark-headed bandit, dressed in a simple fur kilt and shoes, drew his dagger out, "You're in the wrong place, friend."

Vithar looked around, and shrugged, "I'm not so sure. Not a lot of people march up to a ruin like this unless they're after one thing."

The bandit growled, "Ah, a smartass. I'll make your death quick!"

An arrow to the face was the reply Vithar sent, and the bandit collapsed to the snow. Soon, iron arrows began flying, and Vithar bounded up the stairs, sending his steel arrows in response. Three bandits charged at him, and three bandits all received arrows to different parts of their now-lifeless bodies. Blood pooled at his feet as Vithar gripped a pillar, flickering memories of the Great War flowing like bitter wine over his mind.

Shaking his head in a vain attempt to forget, he briskly walked to the entrance and pushed the door open.

* * *

Vithar felt the tug of the Thief stone and realized that he now held the ability to sneak more effectively, as he crouched in the darkness, let the bowstring free, steel arrow singing as it impaled the last bandit in the neck. He had nearly walked in on the two right at the entrance, but thanks to some last minute ideas, he scrambled up a broken pillar and crouched, taking sharp aim. His old habits were coming back, almost overwhelming the veteran.

He marched his way down the hallway and through a partly-collapsed section of the ruin, arrow nocked to the string just in case. What he wasn't thrilled about seeing was the thick, white gossamer strings of spiders wrapped around the hallway.

"Oh for the _love_ of Talos, not _spiders_," he sighed as he brushed some of the web from a doorway, hearing a panicked voice beyond the opening.

"Hello…is anyone there? Please! Don't let it eat me!" came the sound of a frantic accented voice. Vithar raised an eyebrow as he managed to cut through the thicker strands with his dagger, and stepped into a wide chamber room where several egg sacs dotted the walls and corners. In the doorway leading further into the chamber was a trapped Dunmer, dressed like a bandit, who struggled to escape. He saw Vithar and exclaimed, "Oh thank you Azura…holy shit!"

A giant, bleeding Frostbite Spider dropped from the webbed ceiling, blood oozing from its eyes. The spider was blind, Vithar noted with a smirk, drawing his bow and arrow. This battle wouldn't be so bad.

"Are you _dumb_, Nord?!" the Dunmer exclaimed. "It's a fucking _spider_! It'll kill us both!"

"Yeah, well I've seen worse," Vithar muttered._ Try facing a dragon, Dark Elf._

He looked around, seeing a few thick strands of webbing, and got an idea. He ran to it, throwing his bow and unsheathing his dagger as he cut through the strands. The spider whirled around, running straight to the source of the disturbance. But Vithar wasn't there, instead jumping to the left and scrambling away. He snatched up his bow and managed to shoot two arrows at two of the spider's legs, causing it to crumple to the right. The spider let out a hiss and struggled to turn to where the pain came from.

However, Vithar was once again gone, this time climbing up a broken part of the wall just behind the spider's back. Arrow drawn, he shot at the spider's left side, while the Dunmer screamed, _"For the love of Azura, get me out of here now!"_

Another leg gave out, and the spider collapsed onto its underbelly, unable to see or move. Its injuries were just too great. As the spider struggled to get up, Vithar jumped onto its back, having retrieved an ancient sword from a dead corpse nearby. With a howl of pure adrenaline, Vithar buried the sword hilt-deep into the top of the spider's giant head.

A few twitches and the Frostbite Spider was no more. Vithar jumped off the spider's corpse, brushing off the green blood that spurted from the spider's head. He picked up the bow that he cast aside and replaced it on his back as he turned to face the Elf.

"You know of the claw?" Vithar asked. The Elf nodded, hide helmet bobbing with him. Vithar held out a hand, "Give it to me and I'll think about letting you free."

"Dense Nord," the Dark Elf rolled his eyes. "I can't _move_. Maybe…maybe if you cut me down first I can show you the secret to this Barrow?"

Vithar thought for a moment, and went back to the spider's corpse, pulling out the sword embedded in its skull with a sickening _schluk_ that echoed throughout the room. The Dark Elf panicked, but Vithar began to cut the web asunder.

Soon, the Dark Elf collapsed to his knees, brushing himself free of the webs. He took one look at the Nord in blood-covered Imperial armor, and gave a slight smile before taking off into the ruins.

_"I'll be damned before you take the claw from me!"_ he shouted as he took off.

"The Gods _hate_ me," Vithar sighed before casting the green-coated blade aside, chasing after the thief.

**Sorry about the delay in updates there. For a while I couldn't update anything. As an apology, here's the next chapter. I finished it earlier than I planned, which is awesome because I've been super busy today. I'll get the next one up soon, if any glitches don't happen again.**

**I tried to shorten the whole quest to fit into one chapter, but seeing as how it would have been one huge chapter again, I had no choice but to split it. Sorry about that, but I'm sure none of you guys like a chapter that's over 5000 words long. I tend to get wordy, which is a bad thing sometimes, so I'll try to watch my word count.**

**In the meanwhile, thanks for reading, and be sure to leave a review! ShoutFinder has been graciously helping me, so thanks again Shout. I can only grow better as a writer when I know what works and what doesn't work, so let me know what's on your mind!**


	5. Force His Way Through

**I'm not a Nord in real life, so Skyrim doesn't belong to me.**

Chapter Four

Force His Way Through

_So here I am, crawling through a tomb trying not to spring any traps or undead Nords, and this Elf…this Elf is screaming and running like a fucking Hagraven with its head cut off,_ Vithar cursed under his breath._ I must have pissed off a God or something. This week has been all sorts of awful._

The Dunmer in front of Vithar had long since vanished into the darkness of the barrow, but Vithar calmly crouched and crawled his way through the area, first into a hallway, and reappeared in a catacomb lined with coffins and decaying bodies. Stopping just at the entry to the room, Vithar allowed his eyes to refocus due to the appearance of torches dotted around the walls. What he saw next didn't surprise him at all.

Three Draugr, black swords and axes drawn, had the Dunmer cornered, who tried swinging his iron sword around him in a frantic attempt to strike anything. To his dismay, all he hit was himself, right up on the side of his brain. Vithar rolled his eyes, _Dammit I just want to get that claw and go find my brother…_

The Elf recovered after a few tense seconds and turned on his heel, bolting off even further into the catacombs. Vithar made a move to shout, "Hey, watch your step! Pressure plate!"

Before he could even open his mouth, however, the Dunmer stepped onto the plate, and Vithar heard a weak mutter of _"Oh, by Azura…"_ before the plate triggered the spike wall that the Elf neglected to see. Vithar cringed as the spikes impaled the grey-skinned Mer, shoving spikes through his entire body, blood and gore flying everywhere. The wall did do some good though, as the Draugr were knocked back by the wall as well.

The three Draugr, one female and two males, soon went back to their post, walking aimlessly throughout that one room. Vithar readjusted his bow, bringing back another arrow to strike from the shadows, when he felt a strange new feeling wash over him. The vision he had been given from the Stone fell upon his mind once again, and he let the arrow fly, striking the male Draugr that was the furthest distance away from him right in the back of his shriveled head. Lifeless, or at least even deader than he was before, the Draugr collapsed onto the ground, drawing the attention of his comrades. Vithar allowed the two Draugr to run to their fallen friend before offing the female right in the heart.

To his great surprise, two cerulean orbs turned to face him in the dim room, and Vithar's heart quickened. He gave out his hiding spot. What a rookie mistake, he stood up and scolded himself before replacing his bow and drawing his dagger out. He charged ahead with a battle cry, scaring the unlife out of the Draugr, who made to turn tail and run. However, Vithar leaped, tackling the dead sack of bones to the ground and piercing the Draugr in the throat with his dagger. Any groans the dead Nord made were permanently silenced along with his brethren.

Vithar stood up and shook off his adrenaline rush, sheathing his dagger and walking to the dead Dunmer on the spike wall, careful to avoid triggering that same trap. He side-stepped the pressure plate and walked up to the Mer, noticing a burgundy flap on his back pocket and a bag that looked way too heavy for supplies. He lifted the burgundy flap, which turned out to be a journal, and searched the satchel, a wide and triumphant grin spreading across his face when he felt the cold metal claw on his fingertips. When he pulled out the golden claw he also noticed a few gold coins in the bottom of the bag, and took those as well.

Holding the claw firmly, he looked at the claw and noticed three decorative circles on the underside, each depicting a sort of crude animal design. Hoping the journal had some explanation for why the Elf stole the claw, Vithar flipped it open with one hand, holding it a little closer to the light to read. The first page said, "Property of Arvel the Swift" and continued on into two small, scribbled paragraphs.

Skimming over the last few sentences, he furrowed his brow. He looked at the claw and studied the three circular designs carefully, and smacked his head with the journal, "_Duh_, Vithar! The claw is used to open the Nord barrows. The animal designs are the key. Something _must_ be hidden inside this place, and this idiot wanted to find it."

He pried the dead Mer's satchel off of his body, tried to clean off the blood as best as he could, and placed the claw and the journal in there, placing the Septims in there as well. With that, he began walking further into Bleak Falls Barrow, "If only I had a map of this place. Who knows _where_ in Oblivion this Hall of Stories could be?"

He snickered, "Arvel the Swift…what a lame nickname."

* * *

After nearly being beheaded by a few swinging pendulums and another run-in with Draugr, Vithar stood before a weird-looking door with three movable rings. He pulled out the claw and smiled, "Okay…bear…butterfly…owl?"

As he spoke, he struggled to move the rings, which gave off mouthfuls of dust that Vithar couldn't help but inhale. He coughed, but kept a tight hold on the rings, turning them to the right animal combination. With a flourish, he placed the three claws of the Claw in the three small indentations, turning it to the left and to the right, struggling to keep his grip on the claw. A stone slid out, and the three rings began to turn erratically before landing on three owls and sliding into the ground. Vithar pulled the Claw free before losing it to the Barrows, and hopped over the disappearing door into a spacious cavern.

Vithar's eyes scanned the area, mouth agape at the sight. It was a giant cavern located far underground, with an underground stream cutting through it. Bats flew overhead, causing Vithar to duck slightly as he walked in, placing the claw back in his borrowed bag. He drew his bow just as a precaution as he walked by empty coffins, stepping down a staircase and over the stream, where a giant stone wall with strange etchings loomed in the back of the cavern. He eyed a giant treasure chest next to an unopened coffin and an ancient shelf littered with alchemical ingredients, and smiled, having found the treasure.

As he approached the chest however, he began to hear a strange chanting noise, much like a choir of men was following him closely. Vithar turned his head, eyebrow raised, as he knelt to open the chest, and saw no one there.

"This just keeps getting even stranger," he said as he put his bow on the floor next to him and opened the chest, seeing all sorts of different weapons and potions inside. He held a warhammer up, running a finger over its sleek steel designs, and shivering slightly as he felt the ice enchantment chill his flesh. He put that on his back, right where his bow would be, and hooked a glass war axe on the other side of his dagger, while placing the potions in the bag with the claw and journal. Still that damned chanting was about to send Vithar to the Shivering Isles and in Sheogorath's cheesy embrace.

He turned to face the wall, trying to find the source of the chanting, and felt the strangest sensation of being pulled toward it. As he took a step or two closer, the chanting grew louder and louder in his eardrums until he felt the chant course through his entire body. It pulsed in his head, roared in his soul, and made his heart pound erratically. Vithar's vision began to cloud as he now stood just before the wall, only seeing a strange blue light surrounding him. What sounded like a rush of wind soon felt like it, with his blond locks whipping around his scarred face. A refrain of roars in his head, echoing like the dragon's powerful voice in Helgen, declared one word, over and over and over again.

_Fus…Fus...Fus…Fus…_

A dragon's roar could be heard in his heart.

_FUS!_

Vithar took a step back, holding his head in agony at the screaming conclave in his brain, totally missing the fact that a Draugr was making his grand appearance to the crazy party. What drew Vithar's attention was the Draugr snarling something in some strange language that he somehow felt like he knew. Vithar turned on his heel, his newly acquired weapons clattering together, and swore as the shouting in his brain gave way to the Draugr squaring his shoulders, taking in a deep breath, and Shouting that strange word.

"_FUS!"_ the undead Shouted. Vithar staggered backwards as he saw a pulsing blue wave flying at him, breaking into him like a wave on a beach. He shook his head, recalling Ulfric's Shout, and realized that Ulfric always Shouted _"FUS!"_ before a string of other words.

Well, if this Draugr wanted a Shouting match, then dammit he was going to give the Draugr _exactly_ what it wanted.

Vithar furrowed his brow, and took the same stance as Ulfric would, straightening up before reclining back and shouting with a triumphant voice, _"FUS!"_

And _nothing_ _happened_.

Vithar blinked twice, looking at the powerful Draugr, who stared blankly at him as well with piercing blue irises swimming in a pool of black. The Draugr cocked his head slightly before laughing. The Draugr laughed so hard, he was gripping his pale, decaying stomach. Vithar scowled, red heat flushing into his face.

He just got one-upped by a dead man.

_"Hey, shut it, lame-brain!"_ Vithar growled. The Draugr stopped laughing and drew a battle-axe, pulsing with green energy, and swung it at Vithar with a snarl. Vithar dodged it seamlessly, but sighed as he watched his bow snap, having left it on the ground for the Draugr to break with his boot. He thought for a moment, and drew the warhammer, steadying it on his right shoulder. The cold enchantment didn't bother him this time. The Draugr readied his weapon, holding it in a defensive position.

Charging ahead, Vithar swung the heavy weapon with a little too much force, losing his balance. However, he did feel the impact of the hammer's end collide with the Draugr's left shoulder, and the Draugr staggered back, shivering as the cold seeped into his ancient bones. Vithar regained his balance after staggering back to the wall, preparing himself for the Draugr's Shout as the undead Nord once again set his shoulders straight.

As he began to open his mouth, Vithar broke ahead as he dropped the warhammer, slamming the glass war axe into the Draugr's face. Putrid blood poured over the axe and sprayed on Vithar's face as the Draugr's blue eyes burned tunnels through Vithar's own blue eyes.

"F…_Fu_…." the Draugr choked out as Vithar dug the axe out, collapsing to the ground as his eyes blinked out. Vithar wiped the blood from his face with a grimace, beating back the memories of war with a few shaky breaths, before smirking, "Yeah well,_ fuck you too, jerk._"

He took a closer look at a strange tablet that was placed on the Draugr's back in a special harness, only visible to him after slaying the undead man. He lifted it, finding it had the exact same markings as the wall. He blinked as he ran a finger over the etchings, curious as to what they meant. He hesitated to leave before taking the Draugr's weapon and flipping the corpse's corpse off.

* * *

Lucan sighed as he watched the sun begin to drop over the mountain, Bleak Falls Barrow disappearing into the darkness of night. He closed the door after him and held the key up to lock the trade post door shut when something hard and pointy slammed into the side of his head. He fell over in shock and in pain, gripping the side of his head, "What in Oblivion…who threw that?!"

"Next time, _hide_ your damned Claw!" Vithar spoke as he disappeared into Gerdur and Hod's home. "I'll pick the gold up in the morning!"

The door into their home slammed shut and Lucan groaned, holding the Golden Claw up with a soft smile, "Ah…good to have you back, _my_ _precious_."

* * *

True to his word, Vithar returned to the Riverwood Trader with an apologetic smile and left with 500 gold pieces. He sold off the weapons he got from the Nord ruin, minus the glass war axe that he kept with his dagger, to Alvor the blacksmith. With the gold he received, Vithar bought a brand new Imperial-style bow, close in design to the one he used in the Great War, as well as a quiver filled with shiny new steel arrows.

Ralof had provided Vithar with a spare set of Stormcloak armor and a change of leather armor in case he ran into an Imperial settlement. Ralof nodded, "I'll meet you on the edge of town when you're ready. We can split up at Whiterun. It's not even a day's journey from here."

He held up a small amulet as well, with the symbol of the Hammer of Talos attached. He smiled as he gave it to Vithar, "A true Nord keeps Talos over his heart. Wear it well, brother."

As Vithar placed it around his neck, something in his throat throbbed with newfound power.

The pack he took from Arvel the Swiftly Deceased was replaced with a thick leather backpack he received as a gift from Hod, where he placed the strange tablet he found in the ruins, as well as three-day's worth of supplies, a change of clothes, and several other camping necessities, including the potions he found in the ruins. He threw out the journal, finding no other use for it other than to laugh at Arvel's nickname.

After thanking Alvor for the bow, Vithar turned to walk down the wooden stairs to meet with Ralof at the edge of town when he heard a sickening howl.

"_I'll drink you dry, mortal!"_

Vithar gripped his war axe as his eyes scanned the town, finding the female voice came from a scuffle near the edge of town where he was supposed to meet Ralof. He leapt over the stairs, sprinting to the fight where a pale red-headed Imperial had a guard in her jaws. Literally, his neck was in her mouth, and he struggled as she sucked the blood right out of him.

_"Vampire!"_ Vithar yelled in warning, and three other guards came to their aid.

A black dog jumped on his back, teeth sinking into his left shoulder, and Vithar cried out in shock and pain. He slammed his back into the lantern pole behind him, causing the dog to let go of him, the bite he left behind chilling Vithar to the bones. Vithar wheeled around, slicing at the dog with a powerful side strike.

Ralof's battle cry shook the town, but Vithar saw the vampire turn to Ralof, who came swinging his greatsword, and hiss at him, blood slinging from her mouth. Vithar shouted something intelligible, but Ralof's sword was already sky-high as the fanged undead woman leaped for his throat.

The next thing he knew, Vithar stood in the way of the vampire, his glass war axe already in full swing as the vampire, red eyes burning with anger, snarled. Vithar's mind flashed back to Helgen, when that great lizard stared at him right in the eyes, flickering with full-on rage, and even further to a time in the Great War where the damned High Elves sent blood-starved vampires on a town in order to exact their brand of justice.

A searing pain shot up his right wrist as her hooked nails razed along his forearm, and burning blood splattered on his entire torso as the edge of his war axe met the vampire's neck, cleaving it right off of her body. With a twitch, the body collapsed onto the ground while her head, eyes still as red as that dragon's and mouth still agape, rolled down the hill, leaving a blood trail behind.

Ralof, meanwhile, fought off another one of the strange black dogs that accompanied the vampire. Swinging his two-handed blade at the dog, it caught the dog in the leg. Disabled it may have been, the dog, with snarling fangs that dripped blood, snatched Ralof in the left foreleg with a powerful grip. With a roar, Ralof held the sword to the dog's forehead and shoved it into its brain, eviscerating it almost completely in half.

Vithar gripped his arm, trying not to point out that he was just scratched by a vampire, and Ralof could be heard collapsing to the ground, groaning. Vithar turned to see that Ralof had been injured in the leg, a dead beast lying in a pool of black blood, and three guards who had been injured as well. He knelt to Ralof, looking at his leg, and Ralof asked weakly, "_Gods_, that dog's bite was as cold as death."

Vithar nodded as he took a cloth strip from Ralof's blue sash and wrapped it around his injured leg, "Aye. Got one on my shoulder too."

"What of your arm?" Ralof asked, holding the injured arm up to see, and Vithar pulled it away, "The dog's claws caught me on the way down."

"Good thing it wasn't that vampire," one of the guards said as she held her helmet in her arms, her forehead bleeding. "They say that if one scratches you, you could become one. I hope that isn't true…"

Vithar's jaw set and he bit his lip, helping Ralof up, "Here, I'll get you home. Let me go to Whiterun for you. It is on the way, so it won't be an inconvenience."

Ralof nodded, "That would be best. I'll meet you at Windhelm for drinks. I owe you my life, so at least let me repay you in mead."

Vithar laughed, "You and Ulfric _both_ owe me drinks. I'll be a happy Nord on that day."

_If I'm even still around,_ he thought grimly.

After settling Gerdur down ("Gods, a vampire attack in the day?!" she wailed. "My child isn't safe out there!"), Ralof waved Vithar farewell and gave him directions to Whiterun. After patching up his injuries, Vithar thanked Hod for the charity and began his walk to Whiterun, with the sun now near the middle of the sky. As he looked up, he sighed.

Gripping the Amulet of Talos, he muttered, "Talos guide me. I need your divine mercy."

**Yeah that just happened.**


	6. All Along the Watchtower

**Boring chapter ahead. Sorry, but there was no way around this one. I'll upload a more exciting one here in a bit.**

Chapter Five

All Along the Watchtower

The road to Whiterun was short, but by the time Vithar got to the city gates, the sun had already begun its descent into the horizon of Skyrim. He still held the Amulet of Talos that Ralof gave him in his grip, and before he got to the city gates, he tucked it under his Stormcloak armor and gazed at his injured arm.

He couldn't feel anything happening, so hopefully the vampire didn't infect him. Sure, he felt a little drowsy after the day's events, but that was just because he couldn't sleep last night. Too many memories of years past by kept popping up in his dreams. Vithar breathed a soft prayer to Talos and kept on going up the slope past the stables into the city of Whiterun.

As he walked by the stables, he could see the yellow-sashed guards beginning to light the giant cauldrons that would keep the city alight during the night. As he walked by, they didn't give him too much trouble, still busy lighting the cauldrons and starting nightly patrols around the keep.

However, as he crossed the drawbridge and reached the wide gates, a guard met him at the gate, shield and sword in hand.

"Halt!" he said in a slight accented voice, stopping Vithar. The guard sneered at his Stormcloak armor, snorting, "_No one_ enters this city except on official business. Whiterun is closed off to visitors."

"I'm here from Riverwood," Vithar stated. "I need to speak to the Jarl about Helgen and defending Riverwood."

Instantly, the sneering guard straightened up, "You were at _Helgen_? And Riverwood's in danger? You'd best get to the Jarl then!"

_Well, that's why I'm here_, Vithar mentally rolled his eyes as the guard let him into the city.

As soon as he walked in, Vithar took in a deep breath at the sights of the place. Buildings of all sizes dotted the area, and what seemed like a million people milled around the place, gathering mostly up over the hill, where Vithar's eyes could see dozens of stands beginning to close up. Right before him was an Imperial woman, dark-skinned and wearing a blacksmith's apron, and a tall Nord wearing light Imperial armor, blond hair pulled back in braids. Both were obviously in deep conversation.

"We'll pay whatever it takes," the Nord crossed his hands over his chest. "But we _must_ have more swords for the Imperial soldiers."

The blacksmith sighed, one hand on her hip, "I just can't fill an order that _size_ on my own…Why don't you swallow that stubborn pride of yours and ask Eorlund Gray-Mane for help?"

The Nord man snorted, "Ha! I'd sooner_ bend my knee_ to Ulfric Stormcloak. Besides…Gray-Mane would _never_ make steel for the Legion."

The Imperial pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering under her breath, and straightened up, "Have it your way. I'll take the job, but don't expect a miracle."

The Nord smiled, "Thank you, Adrianne. You're the best."

"_Whatever_, Idolaf," the woman chuckled, turning back to her forge. The Nord turned to walk away, but he saw Vithar standing at the other end of the bridge and narrowed his eyes at the Nord in Stormcloak armor.

"_You're_ not welcome here," the Nord spat. "Best finish your business and be on your way out of here, _scum_."

Vithar watched as the Imperial Nord left and scoffed, "_Damn_, what's with _that_ guy?"

"You're wearing the colors of the rebel army, that's what," the Imperial woman called over her shoulder as she hammered a steel sword into shape. "I saw you but didn't want to make a show out of you. Welcome to Whiterun, where the influence of the war is ever stronger."

Vithar walked across the cobblestone bridge and to the Imperial woman as she finished the sword and plunged the white-hot metal into a small trough, "Who was that Nord?"

"Idolaf Battle-Born," she replied, picking up the cool metal and eyeing it with precision. "He's the son of Olfrid, and a _big_ supporter of the Empire, as you've just seen. Don't mind him though; his whole _family_ is the same way. You'll find out soon enough."

"Olfrid?" Vithar thought. "The name sounds familiar."

"He's the patron of Clan Battle-Born," Adrianne said as she placed the steel back into the forge's embers. "He served in the Great War in the very beginning. Said that it was every Nord's duty to serve its government in war. After the Empire surrendered, he swore that he would support the Empire no matter what happens."

Vithar nodded, "I see. So is this place loyal to the Empire?"

Adrianne shook her head as she pulled out the metal and continued to hammer it into shape on the anvil, "No, nor is it loyal to Ulfric. This city is neutral, but the Jarl continues to see supporters on both sides trying to turn the sway of Whiterun to their sides. Idolaf and his family keep trying to make Whiterun pro-Empire while the Gray-Manes and Eorlund are fighting to make it pro-Stormcloak."

Vithar raised an eyebrow, "Wow, this place really _is_ a hotbed of activity!"

Adrianne laughed as she placed the steel sword to the side, placing her hammer in her apron pocket, "You don't even know the _half_ of it."

Vithar looked up to see a giant fortress located at the top of the hill, where banners of Whiterun fluttered in the wind, "So is _that_ where the Jarl's palace is?"

Adrianne looked to where Vithar pointed and nodded, "That's Dragonsreach, home of Jarl Balgruuf. He's probably retired for the night, so if you have business with him it'll have to wait until the morning."

Vithar furrowed his brow, "I don't know if it can _wait_ another day. I have news to deliver to him personally."

Adrianne thought for a moment, and crossed her arms, "I'm sure you can catch him just before the sun sets. My father told me he's been working later every night, with all the people who've been requesting an audience with him."

Adrianne snapped her fingers and walked to the entrance of the shop and peered inside, "But if you go, could you deliver something to Proventus Avenicci? He's my father, the steward. Ulferth, can you bring me the greatsword?"

After a few seconds, a tall, buff-looking Nord in iron armor brought out a greatsword, and smiled at Adrianne with a confused look forming in his eyes, "Love, I thought you were going to make a personal delivery. You haven't seen your father in weeks."

Adrianne sighed as she took the greatsword, "I _know_, Ulferth, but I just got _slapped_ with making swords for Idolaf and I'll be held up for much longer than I thought."

Ulferth sighed, "You're good at what you do, my love, but you know you can _always_ turn down requests. Why don't you let _me_ help you?"

Handing the greatsword to Vithar, Adrianne dusted her hands off and nodded to Ulferth as she looked back to Vithar, "Just let my father know that I'll try to make time to see him soon. And good luck with Jarl Balgruuf!"

* * *

_The greatsword is pretty well-forme_d, Vithar noted as he held it, while walking up the long stairway to Dragonsreach just as the sun began to set. _She sure knows what she's doing. I haven't seen an Imperial work a forge in Skyrim yet, and this Imperial is a woman! Vithar thought for a moment, I wonder if she could use some extra hands around the forge. I'm a decent blacksmith. Couldn't hurt to ask._

The guards at the gates to Dragonsreach watched him walk up with the greatsword, and as he saw them he said with a clear, authoritative voice, "I need to speak to the Jarl. I also have a delivery from Adrianne to Proventus."

Without a word they let Vithar pass. He nodded his thanks as he walked through the tall cedar doors.

_Man, Jarls always have the best things!_ Vithar couldn't help but gasp as he entered Dragonsreach. The interior looked much bigger than the outside, with tall pillars that supported an even taller ceiling, and rugs and furs and trophies everywhere. Before him was a set of stairs that led up into the main court of the Jarl's palace, where two long, polished wooden tables sat furnished with all sorts of foods and wines. And past that, the ornate throne of the Jarl sat underneath the skull of…

"A _dragon_?" Vithar furrowed his brow as he found his feet again and began walking towards the throne. Holding the greatsword with a delicate grip he walked up the stairs and saw the Jarl begin to get up from his throne. A Dunmer woman in armor discussed something with him in silent tones while an Imperial, whom Vithar guessed to be the steward Proventus, began to walk to the tables.

The Jarl looked to be much older than Vithar, around the age his father was when Vithar left for the Great War, and wore much more ornate clothing than Vithar had ever seen before. The crown of the Jarl glinted in the torchlight. The Dunmer herself wore well-worn leather armor and had a steel scabbard strapped on her left hip. Proventus looked up from where he was standing just before the tables and said, "_Welcome_ to Dragonsreach-"

Before he could finish his sentence, the Dunmer whirled around on her leather boot heel and drew her sword, marching towards Vithar with a scowl, "The Jarl isn't seeing anyone today._ Especially a Stormcloak_."

"I bring news from Helgen and Riverwood," Vithar stated, taking a step back as the Dunmer pointed her sword at his chest. "I need to speak to the Jarl _immediately_."

"Whatever you can tell the Jarl, you can tell _me_ too," the Dunmer's red eyes burned even brighter as her scowl deepened. But before he could answer, a thick voice shouted.

"_Irileth_! It's fine. Let him come. I _won't_ turn down a citizen from my hold," the Jarl straightened up as he returned to his throne. "Besides, from what I've heard of Helgen, he's probably one of the few who survived."

Irileth sheathed her sword as she briskly turned her back to Vithar and returned to Jarl Balgruuf's side, red hair swishing madly behind her. Vithar cleared his throat and walked up to Jarl Balgruuf, holding the greatsword away from him. He stood before the Jarl, now fidgeting in his fur boots.

But Jarl Balgruuf must have heard what Vithar said to Irileth because he addressed Vithar first, "So…you were at Helgen? You saw this dragon with your own eyes?"

"Yes, I had a good view of it while the Imperials were trying to_ cut off my head_," Vithar's face burned scarlet, but Balgruuf didn't react to his statement, except for a long exhale.

"By _Ysmir_…Irileth, you were_ right!_" Jarl Balgruuf rubbed his forehead, looking to Proventus. "What do you say now, Proventus? Shall we continue to trust in the strength of our walls? Against a _dragon_?"

Irileth interrupted as Proventus began to open his mouth, "My lord, we should send troops to Riverwood at once. It's in the most immediate danger. If that dragon is lurking in the mountains…"

But as she spoke, Proventus interrupted her just the same, "The Jarl of Falkreath will view that as a provocation! He'll assume we're preparing to join Ulfric's side and attack him! We should-"

Jarl Balgruuf pounded the arm of his throne, "_Enough!_ I'll _not_ stand idly by while a _dragon burns down my hold_ and _slaughters my peopl_e! Irileth, send a detachment to Riverwood at _once_."

Proventus spoke quickly, "If you'll excuse me, I'll return to my duties."

Jarl Balgruuf looked up at him, trying his best to fight off his annoyance, "That would be best."

Vithar was so wrapped up in the argument that he didn't notice Jarl Balgruuf standing up. When he did, Vithar straightened up as Balgruuf spoke, "Well done. You've sought me out on your own initiative. You've done Whiterun a service and I won't forget it. Proventus will bring you something out of my own armory as a reward. But now I must ask you to follow me."

As Jarl Balgruuf walked, Vithar fell in step beside him. As Vithar looked to the Jarl, he was amazed at how much taller he was in person. Even for Vithar, a fully grown Nord man, he was puny in comparison to the giant that governed Whiterun Hold.

"My court wizard, Farengar, has been researching the dragons since word first came to us of the Helgen attack," Balgruuf explained. "Since you have seen this dragon, maybe you can help Farengar out in any way."

As they walked into one of the side rooms, Vithar saw that they were approaching a lab filled with several different types of ingredients, soul gems, and magical staffs. A robed man was busy grinding down ingredients in a mortar and pestle as Balgruuf cleared his throat, "_Farengar_, I brought you an assistant to help you on your dragon studies."

The wizard turned around, straightening his black hood as he walked quickly to greet Balgruuf, "Oh good. I was just about to request you send me one of your guards. Is he the one who I heard saw this dragon? I couldn't help but overhear…"

Balgruuf nodded, "Yes, he was at Helgen. I'll leave him to you, then."

Vithar stammered, "Whoa, wait, what? I'm an errand boy now?"

Jarl Balgruuf turned to leave, "You're doing us a service by finding out more about that dragon! Find me in the morning. Farengar will show you to a room here in Dragonsreach. Good luck!"

Vithar sighed, "Well…one more day couldn't hurt." He turned to face Farengar, who had a serious look plastered on his face as he pulled out a few books from his bookshelf nearby. He plopped them down on the desk before them, and some soul gems clattered noisily on the floor. The Nord mage then flipped them all open to dog-eared pages and looked up to Vithar.

"I suppose you could do," the Nord shrugged. "If the Jarl thinks you're capable, then I'll trust his judgment. I need you to go fetch something for me…" Farengar chuckled, "Well, when I say 'fetch', I really mean_ 'delve into a dangerous ruin in search of an ancient stone tablet that may or may not actually be there'_. But that's just _trivial_, no?"

Vithar thought for a moment and sighed, "Well, _okay_, where am I going and what am I fetching?"

"Ah, straight to the point, eh? No need for hows and whys. I like that. Leave those details to your betters, am I right?" Farengar smiled, and Vithar leaned on the greatsword in awkward silence.

Farengar pointed to a book, and sheepishly spoke, "I…ah…_learned_ of a certain stone tablet said to be housed in Bleak Falls Barrow…a "Dragonstone" said to contain the map of an ancient Dragon burial site. Go and bring it to me. It's probably in the main chamber."

Vithar's ears perked up at Bleak Falls Barrow, and he nearly collapsed on the ground in giddiness, "Oh, do you mean _this_ old stone?"

He put the greatsword on the table, mentally reminded himself to bring that to Proventus, and took off his backpack, undoing the flap and pulling out the tablet that he retrieved from the cocky Draugr. Handing it to Farengar, he watched the Nord's face light up like a torch.

"Ah! The Dragonstone of Bleak Falls Barrow! You're _certainly_ cut out of a different cloth than most brutes the Jarl sends me," Farengar studied the stone carefully, struggling under its weight, and placed it on the desk with the open texts, causing some other items to fall off the table when it met the surface. "She will be most pleased with this. I'll send word for her to arrive immediately."

"Uh…_she_?" Vithar furrowed his brow, but before any of the Nords could speak, Irileth shouted,_ "Farengar!"_

Farengar's bright expression faded into determination as he brushed past Vithar, "Yes, Irileth?"

The Dunmer appeared, gasping for air as a scorched guard ran past her, "Come with me. Both of you. There's been a dragon attack!"

Vithar nodded and began to follow Irileth, but not before hearing a strange sound, much like the quickened beat of a heart, in his throat. His cut burned viciously, sending white-hot streaks of agony to his own beating heart. He grimaced, but followed Irileth and an overly-excited Farengar up the stairs and into a war room, where a disheveled Jarl Balgruuf waited for them with equipment in hand.

By the time he got there, the three were already conversing with the burned guard, who was recounting the details of the attack to the Jarl. Balgruuf looked to Irileth, "Get your men out there and let's see what damage has been done."

"My men are already ordered to muster at the main gate," Irileth spoke with an edge that only an impending battle would bring out. Jarl Balgruuf nodded, but Farengar made a move to follow the Dunmer as she walked off.

"Farengar, stay with me here," Balgruuf stated as the guard was released to recover in the guard's barracks. "I need you devising new ways to fight off this dragon. And as for you…"

Jarl Balgruuf turned to Vithar, a set of enchanted leather armor and an enchanted blade in his hands, and handed them to him. Vithar grabbed the equipment and placed them in his bag, now emptier since the stone was removed. "Go with Irileth and scout out the watchtower," Balgruuf spoke. "You'll probably have to use that blade. It's from my personal armory, so it's of good quality. Return from this…and you'll be a legend."

* * *

Vithar ran ahead of the guards, lighting up his path with a torch he took from the barracks next to the gate. It was almost nighttime when he approached Dragonsreach; now it was pitch-black, in the dead of night, and he was off on a mission to kill a dragon.

_A dragon in the middle of the night?_ Vithar thought as he neared the watchtower, which illuminated the area due to still being on fire. _Oh man, this is going to be worse than I thought. Better wait here for the others just in case._

As he knelt, he looked around, pleased to see no dragon in sight. He saw dots of fire not too far away, and was relieved to see Irileth approaching with her cadre of seven guards, all armed to the teeth with torches as well.

"It looks as if we arrived too late to save the tower," Irileth muttered as she caught her breath. She looked to the soldiers, "Watch the skies. Split up and let's see what we can find here."

She drew her sword as the others did the same, Vithar pulling his Imperial bow out and nocking an arrow to the string as a precaution.

The tower had been demolished. Parts of the walkway had been decimated, rendering them unusable. As he ran to the crumbling tower, seeing part of the walkway still intact enough to get inside the tower, he heard a voice shouting, "No! Get back! It's still here somewhere! Hroki and Tor just got grabbed when they tried to make a run for it!"

A hauntingly familiar roar filled the night sky, and the same guard muttered as he walked out of the tower to meet Vithar, "_Kynareth save us_, here he comes again…!"

Vithar looked up to the source of the sound, and watched as a black dot with wings swooped over the mountains, just over Bleak Falls Barrow, and right towards them! He looked at Irileth, who shouted, "Dragon! Archers, aim and fire at will! Nord," she looked at Vithar and spoke, "hope you know what in Oblivion we're up against!"

Vithar nodded, aiming his steel arrow at the growing mass of scales, "I think I can handle _whatever_ any of the Gods or Daedra throw at me!"

**High five to whoever correctly names the song my chapter name references! And hold on tight, because the fight's only just begun!**


	7. Claims a Warrior's Heart

**Promised you a second chapter today. Here we go.**

Chapter Six

Claims a Warrior's Heart

In the night sky, with Nirn illuminated only by the soft light of Masser and Secunda, the giant dragon could hardly be seen as Vithar extinguished his torch and readied his bow. However, his eyesight had been honed after years of warfare and hunting, and he could easily see the black silhouette against the dark blue background of the sky.

"Watch out!" a guard shouted as it dove down into range, maw unleashing burning flames upon them. One unfortunate guard, standing on the broken rocks of the tower, had been burnt alive, and was left a flailing, screaming ball of fire as he fell off the tower.

"Damn it to _Oblivion_!" Vithar shouted as he let an arrow fly, missing it by feet as it flew quickly to the side. "It's too fast for arrows!"

Irileth shouldered her bow and agreed with a simple nod, holding both palms together. In the space between them, sparks erupted from her fingertips and she sprinted towards the area where the dragon hovered, flinging her arms at the dragon as electricity shot out from her open and extended hands. Instantly the dragon recoiled, snarling as the magick struck it, and lost its holding in the air. It collapsed to the ground on its back legs, crawling on the claws of its wings as it spat flames at her.

Vithar ran to Irileth and pushed her out of the way, barely missing the tongues of fire himself. The dragon snarled, and then to Vithar's utter shock, it spoke in an unnaturally deep voice.

"You are brave. _Balaan hokoron_. Your defeat brings me honor."

"Holy _fuck_, _what_?" Vithar sputtered as the dragon chortled, snapping at Vithar. The Nord archer fell onto his back trying to avoid the dragon's sharp jaws as Irileth got up and unleashed more sparks at the dragon. He hissed as he took off into the sky. Irileth looked at Vithar and held out a hand to help him up quickly, giving him a nod of gratitude.

Vithar drew back his bowstring and nocked another arrow to it, feeling a strange power flow through his body, like an amplification of his natural abilities. With confidence, he fired arrow after arrow at the dragon, watching as each arrow struck home in the underbelly. The dragon howled as it landed, crushing two guards under its claws. Blood pooled around its feet, both from its injuries and the guards who had been killed in the attack.

"_Brit grah. _I had forgotten what fine sport you mortals can provide!" the dragon spoke again as it opened its mouth, snapping up a nearby guard and flinging his lifeless corpse aside. Vithar saw an opportunity to use the war axe that he recovered from the barrows, drawing it as he threw his bow aside in a dead run to the dragon.

"You _stupid_ Nord!" Irileth cried out, but Vithar ignored her. Arrows weren't enough to kill a dragon…there had to be something more…

With a war shout, he buried his axe head in the shoulder of the dragon as it was too busy fighting off the guards that were left. It hissed in pain and popped its left wing out, catching Vithar off guard as it prepared another wave of fire.

Vithar looked up at it, meeting eye to eye. What he had not noticed until now was the startling fact that its eyes weren't blood-red. That only meant one thing.

"_You_ aren't the one from Helgen," Vithar muttered as the dragon faced him. With a draconic sneer it laughed, "_Niid, sahrot ronaan, _I am _not_."

"There are _more_ of you!" Vithar's eyes widened as he swung wildly at the dragon's snout, feeling the impact as it sunk between the dragon's nostrils. The dragon pulled its head back, howling as it shook its head, flinging hot red blood everywhere and all over Vithar's Stormcloak armor. Vithar in turn touched the blood on his face, and decided to paint a straight line of blood across his eyes, illuminated by the dragon fires.

"Your day has come, _dragon_!" he howled. Spreading a line of blood down his arms, he gripped the war axe tighter, taking a battle stance as he pulled out the steel sword Jarl Balgruuf gave him, enchanted with an electric spell. "I am Vithar Eagle-Feather, hero of the Great War, and I will _not_ fall to you this day!"

The dragon flapped its wings, landing on the tower, "_Joor hun, zu'u Mirmulnr, qolaas se Alduin!"_

"Okay,_ what the fuck_ did you just say?!" Vithar growled. But the dragon belched fire upon him instead, and Vithar dodged it while shouting something along the lines of _"Gods-damned giant flying fucking lizard, I'm going to make you into a pair of scaled boots!"_

As the guards continued launching arrows at the dragon, it somehow managed to fly into the air as it howled in agony, blood flying everywhere. It made an erratic turn in the air as it crashed into Nirn, sliding into the tower with great force. Several blocks of rubble landed on it as it struggled to get up, shaking blood from its eyes.

Vithar was upon him in a heartbeat, swinging both weapons with clumsy skill as he hopped up onto the dragon's snout, and in one swing, he buried the sword, hilt deep into the bridge of the dragon's snout.

Wide black eyes flickered for a moment in complete shock as it muttered, "_Dovahkiin_…_no_…"

And then in a shudder, the great dragon fell silent and still.

Vithar leaped off the dragon's snout as he turned to face a bloody Irileth and three of the remaining guards, all equally blood-soaked and charred. He smiled, "Well, I guess that's a round of mead on me?"

Everyone's mouths fell open in shock and he grinned wider, "I'll take that as a '_yes_', then."

Suddenly what sounded like a rush of screaming wind overtook Vithar, and his senses were overrun by searing flames of ancient fire. Snarling and howling and general mayhem filled his mind as he staggered backwards, feeling something echo inside his brain. The strange chanting came back in his mind, the same he heard in the barrows at that word wall…

_Mirmulnr…Dovahkiin…fus…fus...fus…fus…._

_FUS! _came the familiar shout inside his mind, but instead of a mere thought, it echoed in the depths of his being, resonating inside the pulsing of his throat that the Amulet of Talos stimulated painfully. He choked, falling flat on his back, but none of the guards moved except for Irileth. She raced to his side and knelt by him, "What in Oblivion _was_ that?!"

"…You…you _must_ be him…" a guard wearing a scaled helmet muttered, his face wide with complete awe, illuminated by the torches the guards managed to light, and now held in their hands. "Dragonborn! I can't believe it! _You're_ Dragonborn!"

Vithar coughed, but no words came out of his throat. Irileth held out her palm, a soft golden light dancing from her fingertips as she studied his body, "No…you aren't _injured_…now _what's_ this Dragonborn nonsense?" She turned to face the guard who spoke.

"In the very oldest tales, back from when there still were dragons in Skyrim, the Dragonborn would slay dragons and steal their power," he continued, looking at Vithar. "That's what you did, _isn't_ it? Absorbed that dragon's power?"

Vithar could only shrug. The guard thought for a moment, and then looked to Irileth, "I think he did it. Only one thing left to do. Try to Shout! According to the old legends, only the Dragonborn can Shout without training, the way the dragons do."

The guards around him began to exclaim in disbelief, but slowly began to realize that something was up with Vithar. Irileth cleared her throat, "_Hmph_. Some of you would be better off keeping quiet than _flapping your gums_ on matters you don't know anything about. Here's a dead dragon, and that's something I _definitely_ understand. Now we _know_ we can kill them."

She looked at Vithar, who was still struggling to speak due to the great pressure on his throat, "Now, I don't need some mythical _Dragonborn_. Someone who can put down a dragon is _more_ than enough for me."

"You wouldn't understand, Housecarl," another guard muttered. "You ain't a Nord."

Irileth scoffed as she got up, "I've been _all across_ Tamriel. I've seen _plenty_ of things as outlandish as this! I'd advise you all to trust in the strength of your sword arm over _tales and legends!"_

The guard who addressed Vithar spoke, "Can you Shout? Do you know how?"

Vithar opened his mouth to protest that he _did_ try Shouting back in Bleak Falls Barrow but proved himself to be a total failure, but when he did try to speak, only one thing came out of his mouth.

"_FUS!"_

Irileth was blown backward onto the dirt while the guards around him staggered back, recoiling. Vithar sputtered in shock but smiled in satisfaction as the tightness in his throat ebbed away into nothingness, _"Oh holy mother of Talos, that feels much better…"_

The guard that spoke exclaimed with a wide grin, "That was _Shouting_, what you just did! _Must_ be. You really _are_ Dragonborn then…"

_"Dragonborn!"_ the guards raised their shields in celebration as Irileth got to her feet. She dusted herself off as she gave Vithar a dark look, but decided to help him to his feet anyway. She sniffed once as she saw the blood painted on his face and arms.

"You Nords are _gross_," she muttered and Vithar smirked. She continued, "You better go and tell Jarl Balgruuf that the dragon is dead. But _please_, wash that blood off before you see him. You look like a rabid barbarian. Dragonborn or not, that _doesn't_ give you permission to wear blood in front of royalty."

Vithar nodded, retrieving his bow from the floor as he looked back at the dragon and gasped. What was once a fleshy dragon now was a skeleton, skin and muscle completely gone. A small pile of bones and scales, as well as arrows, Whiterun guard armor, and the like, rested just underneath the ribcage. Vithar stooped to scoop all the spoils into his bag, placing the glass war axe and sword on his belt and the bow on his back. The arrows he gained went right into his quiver.

As he stood, he took a look at the guards, all with reverent looks on their faces, as Irileth barked at them to "leave the guy alone and let's _clean_ this damned place up!" With one swift motion, he lit a torch in a dying bit of fire left from the dragon…_Mirmulnr_…and ran back to Whiterun.

* * *

The way to Whiterun was uneventful, to say the least. Darkness surrounded him on all sides, but Vithar didn't mind it so much. After today…life may not be as simple as this anymore. Vithar slowed down to a slow walk, enjoying the nighttime atmosphere.

The plains of Whiterun were cool at this hour, the wind not as powerful as during the day, and all sorts of wildlife made their debut at this time. Foxes and deer roamed leisurely, seeking out safe places to rest for the night, while in the distance, Vithar saw the swift black shadows of wolves and heard the dying shrieks of an unlucky creature. Nirn had always been beautiful during the evening times, Vithar felt, and it was good to be out in the air, good to just be alive. Surviving the Great War and the sudden aftermath of thousands of revolts in the Imperial City brought about a new change in the then-youthful Vithar. Killing and then 'absorbing' that dragon's entire self though…that was something else.

_Am I really who they say I am?_ Vithar thought, and then muttered, _"Fus."_

Even though it was not as loud as his earlier Shout, it still echoed like the crack of thunder, stirring up dust and scaring off the wildlife. He felt the twang in his vocal cords as they strengthened after his Shout, and inhaled deeply, tasting the plains on his tongue.

_Ulfric will flip when he finds out,_ Vithar thought with a smirk. He bent down near a creek as he saw the city of Whiterun, illuminated by the cauldrons that kept vigil over its people, in the far distance. As he held the torch in his left hand, with his right he began to scoop water up and wash off the blood of the dragon he killed. However when he studied the blood as it blended into the creek and washed downstream, he thought for a brief moment, _I should get my face painted just like that. Same color, too._

When he washed the blood off his arms, he felt sufficiently cleaner now, more free than he had ever been since escaping Helgen, since arriving in Skyrim…since leaving the Imperial City itself. He thought of the past week, and how his life had been altered in such a short time, and wondered how in Oblivion he wasn't an emotional mess.

"You're braver than you realize, Vithar," his father's words echoed, the same ones he whispered every night as he tucked young Vithar into bed. "You have the blood of a true, _ancient_ Nord inside of you."

Did his father know something he didn't know? Vithar shook his head and stood up, drying himself off with the end of his blue sash.

He needed to find his brother soon.

* * *

Arriving in the city, he found it to be still and quiet, with only the guards patrolling the city streets. As he walked towards the Jarl's palace, he felt the earth under him begin to rumble, building up into a violent shake. Suddenly what sounded like the loudest peal of thunder Vithar had ever heard roared across the whole of Skyrim, stirring the city awake.

"_DO…VAH…KIIN!"_

As Vithar recovered, holding his head, the only thought he could remember thinking was…

_That's me._

**Our hero, our hero claims a warrior's heart...**

And this girl is going to retire for the night/day/whatever time it is where you are. Enjoy and review and please check out my profile just in case I have any announcements to make!

_Dragon terms_

_Balaan hokoron-_worthy enemies

_Brit grah-_beautiful battle

_Joor hun, zu'u Mirmulnr, qolaas se Alduin!-_Mortal hero, I am Mirmulnr, herald of Alduin!**_  
_**


	8. The Housecarl and the Dragonborn

**Hope everyone had a great Valentine's Day! Here's a nice chapter for you guys.**

Chapter Seven

The Housecarl and the Dragonborn

_That's me,_ Vithar thought again as the rumble soon died away, the ground returning to stability under his feet. Around him, guards and townsfolk ran out to the streets, looking around in the dead of night as they muttered around a dying tree in the plaza, "The Greybeards have spoken…what could this mean?..._Dovahkiin_, the Dragonborn?…"

He straightened up as he brushed through the crowd, wary of anyone talking to him, or addressing him in any way. He had to see the Jarl and get out of town, fast. No, he wasn't Dragonborn, not in any way. He can't be._ I can't be. I'm just an old soldier who's trying to find his place again!_

"Talos has _rewarded_ us this night!" a shrill man's voice caught in his ears and made Vithar cringe. "The _saving_ blood of Stormcrown has filled the void he left _behind_! He has _spoken_, saying-"

"He's probably saying, 'Shut _up_, Heimskr, I'm trying to sleep!'" a Redguard man replied as the crowd laughed. The shrill voice returned, but by the time he spoke Vithar was already near the Jarl's palace.

As he began walking up the stairs, something he hadn't noticed until now caught his attention: the giant statue of a man, with a winged helmet, cape, and sword pointing down into the maw of a dragon, illuminated by a giant cauldron of fire. Talos himself, Tiber Septim, Dragon of the North, first Emperor of the Third Era.

Dragonborn.

Vithar tore his gaze away as he bounded up the stairs and into Dragonsreach, pushing the doors open. On his throne, Jarl Balgruuf and Proventus were talking with a giant man in scaled horn armor, a brute of a Nord from the looks of it, with spiraling red war paint on his cheek and fervor in his eyes. All three turned to see Vithar jog up the stairs and into the great hall, gasping for air from the effort of running all the way from the town square to the palace.

"So, what _happened_ at the watchtower? Was the dragon there?" Jarl Balgruuf sat up eagerly in his throne as the Nord to Vithar's right side widened his eyes in expectation. Vithar took in a deep breath.

"The…watchtower was completely destroyed when we got there," Vithar stated, hoping to forget the whole_ I-absorbed-a-dragon-soul _issue. "But we killed the dragon!"

"I knew I could count on Irileth!" Balgruuf relaxed slightly, but he furrowed his brow as he ran his fingers through his beard. "But there…_has_ to be more to it than that."

_Aw shit,_ Vithar sighed, resigning himself to his face, "Yes, my Jarl…turns out…I may be the Dragonborn."

Silence. No one spoke. Then…

"What…do you know of the Dragonborn?" Balgruuf asked, as his face suddenly lit up with amazement. The Nord next to him had to pick up his jaw from the floor, while Proventus looked between the three of the Nords with confusion.

"When I killed the dragon, I absorbed something out of it," Vithar said. "I don't know what…but I gained the ability to Shout."

"So it's true…the Greybeards really _were_ summoning you!" Balgruuf looked at the Nord near Vithar in shock. Vithar furrowed his brow and muttered, "The Greybeards…they haven't spoken like this before…"

"You're going to have to fill me in on some things," Proventus interrupted. "First of all…what's this Dragonborn nonsense about, anyways?"

"_Nonsense?!"_ the Nord next to Vithar seethed, clenching his teeth. "These are our sacred traditions, dating back to when Tiber Septim was summoned to High Hrothgar and trained by the Greybeards themselves! _This_ was the man who founded your Empire! You puffed-up, ignorant…"

Jarl Balgruuf raised a hand, "Hrongar, please. He's not aware of our traditions. Give him a break."

Hrongar puffed out his thick chest and walked off in a huff, but not before adding to Vithar, "You'd best get to High Hrothgar _soon_. Way Skyrim's going, there are going to be _lots_ of dragons for you to start cutting down."

As Hrongar left, Jarl Balgruuf apologized to Proventus, who said, "_I_ should be sorry, my lord. It's just...what do the Greybeards want with _him_?"

"That's _their_ business, not ours," Jarl Balgruuf spoke. Turning to Vithar he smiled, "Go to High Hrothgar, Dragonborn, and visit with the Greybeards. One doesn't ignore a summons like this, especially with how Skyrim is faring these days. Now tell me, do you still have my sword I lent you?"

Vithar nodded, and Jarl Balgruuf spoke, "You've saved Whiterun from a terrible danger, so I think you should keep the blade for yourself…as a badge of office for your new title. I name you Thane of Whiterun, and I will assign you a housecarl to serve as your defender. I also will notify all the guards of your new title. Dragonborn, it is an honor to have you as Thane in my court."

* * *

In the week that Vithar had been back in Skyrim, he met his old shield-brother Ulfric Stormcloak, became a captive bound for death, stared a living dragon in the face, and barely escaped with his life. He also learned he could Shout, killed another dragon, and absorbed its essence, all while becoming Thane of Whiterun. What _else_ could Vithar experience? What else could happen to the veteran in the weeks to come?

The guards who managed to survive the dragon attack in one piece went to drink themselves to Oblivion in celebration, but Vithar politely turned down their invitation, feeling the weight of the world seeping into his bones. At Jarl Balgruuf's insistence, he retired to a guest bedroom in the west wing of the palace, sinking into the divinely soft mattress with a sigh of contentment, having peeled off the Stormcloak armor to sleep comfortably. Not even a minute passed until Vithar finally slipped into a dream-filled slumber.

The morning came quickly, and with it came word that Vithar's housecarl had been selected, and was preparing for their departure. Vithar stood to his feet, still sore from the night before, and noticed that the servants left him new regal-looking clothing, as well as a fat coin purse. Vithar walked to the backpack he left beside his bed, opened it, and took out the leather armor that Balgruuf gave him. The leather was exquisite, tanned to perfection and crafted with pride. He wondered if Adrianne did it…

Oh _damn,_ the greatsword! Vithar shot up, throwing the new clothes on over his nearly-naked self, running out of the room with no boots on to the lab of Farengar. He was pleased to see that the greatsword was still lying on the table, near the books that Farengar brought out in his studies over the dragons. As he walked to grab the greatsword, he heard hushed voices coming from a closed door on the right side of the room.

"…if they summoned the _Dragonborn_, I know what I have to do…" a woman's voice said sternly.

"The Horn is heavily guarded…too many traps…how will you get through the Draugr?…" Farengar's voice replied with concern.

"I'm a _Blade_, Farengar. I've been through worse," the woman answered.

Vithar tried to listen closer but no one continued speaking. Instead the door began to open, leaving Vithar to grab the sword and bolt away before he could be spotted. _What's this horn they spoke of?_ Vithar wondered as he took the sword and found Proventus standing by the throne of Jarl Balgruuf, talking to a strangely dressed woman with russet hair and three green lines painted across her face. A polished bow was strung across her back, much like Vithar's bow which sat in his room.

"The Companions will do their best to defend the city," she said with earnest, crossing her arms over the ancient-looking armor. "Kodlak will converse with the Jarl later today and work out a plan."

Proventus nodded, but turned his head slightly as he pulled out a small piece of paper from the inside of his blue vest, "Jarl Balgruuf will welcome any who wish to help defend the city. But aren't you Companions running low on new recruits, Aela?"

The woman, Aela, smiled slightly, "Aye, we've heard that line plenty of times. But you can be assured that the warriors we have now in Jorrvaskr are plenty strong enough. We may not know how to kill a dragon, but we can definitely learn."

Proventus scribbled something down on the paper with some charcoal in his pocket and placed it on the inside of his vest, "As you say, Aela. I will get word to the Jarl when he comes to court."

"Thank you, steward," Aela bowed slightly in respect to the Imperial, who smiled at her with gratitude. As she turned she caught Vithar's eye, as the Nord ex-Legionnaire dropped his greatsword with a muttered curse on his tongue when he saw her armor to be quite revealing. She laughed quietly as he fumbled with the greatsword, "Proventus, who is this man? I don't believe I've ever seen him in Whiterun."

Vithar finally gathered up the sword and stood up straight, clearing his throat, "I'm Vithar, the Dr….uhhh, Thane. _Thane_ Vithar."

Aela raised a red eyebrow, and smiled, "Well, Thane Vithar, it is a pleasure to meet you. I trust you've better skill with a sword than that?"

Vithar chuckled nervously, "Uh…well, I'm much better off with a bow, to be frank. Besides, this greatsword isn't for me." He looked to Proventus, "I was supposed to bring this to you last night when I arrived, but…" He looked to Aela with a smirk, "killing that _dragon_ seemed to take higher priority than errand-running."

Aela's eyes widened as he mentioned the dragon, "You…Thane…killed the dragon last night?" She blinked twice in surprise, and shook her head slightly, "Well, I seemed to have _underestimated_ you somewhat, Vithar. You know, we could use someone like you to teach us dragonslaying."

Vithar shrugged, walking to Proventus with the greatsword, "I could make a visit sometime. Right now isn't the best time, of course."

Aela nodded as she turned to leave, "We'll defend the city in the meanwhile, Thane. Jorrvaskr is just below Dragonsreach, you can't miss it. Stop by and ask for Kodlak, the Harbinger."

As Aela left, Vithar gave Proventus a strict look as he handed the sword to the Imperial steward, "That was almost bad."

Proventus chuckled as he took the sword, "Adrianne's work, I see. Here…uh…take this while I go see to the Jarl."

The Imperial handed a small coin purse to Vithar as he turned to leave, strapping the greatsword to his back. When Vithar opened the purse, twenty tiny pieces of gold fell into his palm. He growled, "Hey, whoa! I brought you your daughter's sword and you…_Proventus?"_

The Imperial had already disappeared. Vithar pocketed the Septims as he walked back to his room, glowering. Putting his boots and packing up his things, he waited until Jarl Balgruuf sat upon his throne an hour later to say his farewells.

"Your housecarl is waiting for you at the blacksmith," Balgruuf stated with a sad smile. "She's a fine warrior, Dragonborn, and she'll serve you well. I appointed her myself."

"_She?"_ Vithar asked with a raised eyebrow. Balgruuf nodded, "Yes, she is Lydia, former guardswoman and now tasked with protecting you as you go on your journey."

"Lydia, hmm?" Vithar crossed his arms over his chest. "Well, I guess she'll be fine if you picked her out yourself. We'll leave for High Hrothgar soon as we can. Thank you, my Jarl, for your fine generosity." He bowed in respect to the jarl, who nodded in return, and left Dragonsreach.

* * *

Walking outside, he took in a lungful of crisp air, tasting the aroma of the plains. As he walked, he looked down on his bare forearm, still seeing the outline of the vampire's scratch. When he grazed his fingers down the scab, a sharp, painful stab shot through his heart, causing Vithar to grab his chest in agony with his right hand. His back met the stone wall that helped support Dragonsreach, and slowly he sank down into a sitting position

The sun's rays now seemed to be a little more intense than he remembered, Vithar noted, and he struggled to breathe as the stabbing pain resided, leaving him weaker than before. He reached into his backpack and grabbed a small vial of healing potion, drinking it in one gulp as he felt the soothing, yet bitter liquid, melting into his body. A guard walking by stopped and walked to his side, kneeling to face him with his brown eyes staring out of the visor of his helmet, "Thane Vithar, you don't look so well…do I need to fetch Danica?"

As Vithar looked up to shake his head, something pounded in his brain, something that sounded like the pounding of a heartbeat. But his hand was over his _own_ heart, and it wasn't pounding in the same rhythm that he heard in his mind. Vithar narrowed his eyes, and suddenly sensed the pounding came from the _heart of the guard in front of him._

And then the pounding ceased, the pain faded, and color returned to Vithar's face as the intensity of the sun reduced to almost nothing. He nodded, taking the guard's hand as the guard stood to help the Thane to his feet, "Y-Yes…just a little drained from last night, guardsman. But I'll be fine. Thank you."

The guard nodded, laugh echoing in his helmet, "Yeah I hear ya. Got a hangover that's killing me right now, but that'll go away in time. Good luck, Thane…we're counting on you."

Vithar nodded his thanks as he and the guard parted ways, and bit his lip in worry.

_It's happening already._

The trip to Adrianne's forge was, to Vithar's fortune, uneventful. Sure that shrill voice of the man who kept talking about _"Talos the unerring…Talos, the almighty!"_ would have driven him to insanity, but seeing as how Vithar's life was the pure definition of insanity…it made Vithar relax somewhat. He knew that there was at least someone in the halls of time who experienced the life of a Dragonborn before, and that someone became the Founder of the Septim Dynasty. Vithar could make it…granted, if he even _was_ this Dragonborn fellow.

Approaching the forge, he saw Adrianne and a Nord woman in polished steel armor conversing while the Nord woman sharpened a steel sword and Adrianne finished off a batch of Imperial swords, the same that the jerk Idolaf requested last night. She looked drained, as if Adrianne had been working all through the night…or parts of it, anyways. When she saw Vithar, she smiled and looked to the Nord woman, pointing at Vithar.

The Nord woman looked back at Vithar, and stood up immediately, checking the steel sword before sheathing it, walking to Vithar and standing rigidly before him.

"Thane, it's an honor to meet you," she said, as Vithar studied her dark brown hair swaying in the light breeze. She pushed it from her face in a swift motion before saluting him with a fist over her heart. "My name is Lydia, and I am assigned to be your housecarl."

He smiled, extending a hand to her, "I'm Vithar, Thane of Whiterun."

Lydia bowed her head slightly and faced him, "My Thane, I was instructed to follow you to Ivarstead by the Jarl. The Jarl said you had a pilgrimage to undertake. If you don't mind, I already gathered some basic supplies, and placed them in a knapsack to take with us. The trip to Ivarstead takes up half a day, so we won't need to stop for the night if we leave within the hour."

Vithar blinked twice as he smiled, "Well, housecarl, you're quite the planner. I think this little partnership of ours will be quite useful, then."

Lydia said with a straight face, "I _am_ sworn to carry your burdens, Thane Vithar."

Vithar shook his head with a grin as he walked past her, shouldering his pack as he nodded to Adrianne and opened the door to the shop Ulferth ran, "Then in that case, we have a _lot_ of packing to do, if you're going to protect me! I'm quite the traveler!"

* * *

"You don't want steel armor?" Lydia asked, eyebrow raised, as Vithar looked over the mannequins decked out in several types of light armor in the blacksmith's interior shop, where Ulferth watched with amusement as Adrianne worked outside. "My Thane, the trip is awfully dangerous…"

"I fought off an entire _wave_ of High Elves with _half_ of my Imperial light armor burnt off, only _one_ gauntlet, and _no boots_," Vithar looked to his housecarl with a furrowed brow. "I think I am more than _capable_ of living in light armor, housecarl."

Lydia sighed as she nodded, "Yes, my Thane. Forgive my behavior."

Vithar chuckled to himself in victory as he saw a mannequin displaying leather armor, and smiled, "Ulferth, if you could just hand me the gauntlets and boots of the leather armor right there, I'll take those, plus _that_ quiver of steel arrows…"

"_Just_ gauntlets and boots?" Lydia spoke up, voice lined with shock. "My Thane, you aren't going…_naked_…are you?"

Vithar chuckled, "No, _but_ I bet that wouldn't be _too_ rough for you, wouldn't it?" He watched Lydia's face slowly turn red as he laughed out loud, pulling out a leather cuirass from his pack, "No, housecarl, Jarl Balgruuf gave me this armor, and I _intend_ to use it."

Lydia sighed, partly out of relief and partly out of exasperation as she simply said, "If you say so, my Thane."

Vithar smiled even wider as he caught her rolling her eyes behind his back.

Adrianne, to say the very least of her, was a master of blacksmithing. The leather armor had been fitted better for Vithar in the chest and shoulders, seeing how he had put on some muscle since his service to the Empire, and his bow had been restrung, now perfectly tuned.

They even had time for Lydia to finish fine-tuning her shield while Vithar bought a traveling cloak for himself and Lydia, and a backpack for his housecarl. He even picked up more healing potions and supplies. The gold that was given to him by the Jarl had been put to good use, and they still had plenty left over for the future. Packing up, he bid Adrianne farewell as he gave her more gold than he owed her, and departed with Lydia.

They left Whiterun, walking down the drawbridge, when Vithar took in a deep breath, suddenly hesitant about meeting the Greybeards, "Lydia, do you know where Ivarstead is?"

Lydia nodded, pointing to the direction of the tallest mountain on the horizon, south of them, "It's at the base of the Throat of the World, my Thane. Past Riverwood, through a snowy passage, and into the Rift."

Damn, she knows where to go, so they can't get lost. Vithar scrambled for an idea.

"The…_Rift_, huh?" Vithar thought of his sister, living near Riften, according to the letter his brother wrote. "I have family in the Rift. I also have family near Solitude…"

"Good, we can _probably_ go visit when you finish your business in Ivarstead," Lydia replied quickly as she straightened her pack on her shoulders, and Vithar growled in his head, frustrated.

As they continued to walk down to the stables, he stopped to look at a pair of fine Skyrim horses, dense coils of muscles rippling across their thick brown skin. Vithar pointed as Lydia approached him, "Do you think we should take horses?"

Lydia grimaced as she saw the horses, "_Not_ sure, my Thane. There are plenty of wild beasts in the Rift who would attack us just for the horses. But...it's your decision."

He thought for a moment, trying his best to hold up their travels. Finally he sighed and muttered to himself, "I don't want to visit them."

"My Thane?" Lydia faced her Thane, partially overhearing what he said, and Vithar shook his head, "Nothing. It's just…how about we go to see my brother before we go to Ivarstead?"

Lydia now wore the look of the hopelessly lost, and Vithar put both hands on her shoulders.

"I came to Skyrim to bring potions for my dying father, and I didn't make it in time. Instead, I got carted off to Helgen with an…old friend of mine for being rebels, and I almost got killed by a dragon. I just want to find my brother and find out what happened in the years I was gone."

As he spoke, Lydia's face melted into genuine sympathy, and she gave him a soft smile, "My Thane, I go where you go. I'm sworn to protect you with my life, and I intend to do so."

Vithar returned the smile, and removed his hands from her shoulders as he looked past her, and at the horses. He snapped his fingers and pulled out a map from Lydia's backpack, looking for Solitude. When he found it, he saw where the cartographer put down thick forests, and thought of his brother in a cabin out in the woods.

Pointing to their location, Vithar said, "How long do you think it will take for us to get _there…_" he dragged his finger to the dense cluster of forests near the capital of Skyrim, "to _here?"_

Lydia thought hard, and muttered, "Adding the possibility that we would face dragons…camping out…bandits…rest stops…around three days, from what I can think of."

He smiled, whirling around her as he shoved the map in her hands and raced to the stables, where the stable hand watched them, "We'll take two horses, brother Nord!"

Lydia watched as he gave the stable hand a hefty amount of gold, and left with two horses, reins in both hands. The steeds themselves were of great breeding stock, both had luxurious brown coats, and seemed to be quite docile. Lydia watched as Vithar hopped into the saddle of one of the horses, still holding the reins of the other horse meant for her.

"Come on, housecarl, we need to get going if we are to make it to Solitude in three days!" her Thane said with a smile. She sighed, glaring at the four-legged beast, and slowly resigned herself to her fate.

"I didn't _agree_ to ride a horse, Jarl Balgruuf," she muttered as she gingerly walked up to the horse. Vithar watched eagerly and said with a sly grin, "Housecarl, it's _not_ a sabre cat."

"I just…I don't _like_ horses," she said softly, blushing slightly, as Vithar's sensitive ears picked up her voice. She continued, "I was thrown off one a few years ago. I had to quit my post in order to recuperate."

His face became serious, his eyes softening as he spoke, "My brother was the same way, but he learned that sometimes…you just have to learn that things happen for a reason. Maybe it was supposed to happen so you could be the housecarl to the Savior of Whiterun."

She looked up at him with daggers in her gaze, but sighed and hopped onto the horse as Vithar handed her the reins, "You'll get the hang of horse-riding, I promise. Just follow me."

"I still have the map, my Thane."

**Today has been quite...eventful. Some idiot decided to pull his car out in front of me in an intersection and caused me to hit him. My pretty car is totaled. No one was injured though...the only casualty was my precious Diet Coke had been smashed all over my dashboard. Writing this was sort of like therapy for me, seeing as how I was mad about the whole my-car-is-destroyed thing.**

**Enough about my boring life, though. In the next few chapters, we'll start seeing a bit of foreshadowing of Vithar's life, as well as snippets of his past as a Legion soldier. After this is finished, I will see to writing a mini-fic of his first meeting with Ulfric and the Great War, as well as Vithar's journey to Solstheim! But that probably won't happen for quite a while...**

**In other news...over 350 views for the last seven chapters of this story! I'm thrilled that someone out there is even reading this stuff. I get so self-conscious about my writing sometimes. I am my own worst critic!** **Anyways...keep reading and start reviewing for me, so I can start getting better at this stuff. You guys are awesome!**


	9. The Bandit Killer

**Sorry for the wait. Here's a chapter for you guys!**

Chapter Eight

The Bandit Killer

The sun hovering far above them in the bright blue sky, Vithar and his housecarl rode their horses at a slow pace, following the western cobblestone trail as the western watchtower, which was now being rebuilt, came into view. Lydia, who had been silent, whistled low as she saw the skeleton of the dragon, which some mages and soldiers studied closely.

"That thing must have been quite difficult to slay, Thane Vithar," she stated. Vithar scoffed.

"That's the understatement of the year," he laughed. "I'm pretty sure that if I didn't have the guardsmen acting as food sources for me, _I'd_ be in that beast's belly."

Lydia laughed, and the two continued on their way, and after a few minutes they arrived at the watchtower. Vithar saw an awfully familiar mage leading the expedition, and yelled over the breeze, "Hey, Farengar!"

Farengar turned from the skeleton as he dictated it be taken apart by the soldiers, and waved, "Hello, Dra…_uh_…Vithar!"

Vithar cringed. No one needed to know he was Dragonborn. No one, not even Lydia. He didn't even want to know he was this mythical hero! He smiled all the same as he stopped his horse to allow Farengar to approach him. Lydia stopped, keeping a wary eye on the mage, until she saw it to be the court mage. Then, she loosened up somewhat.

"This road leads _away_ from High Hrothgar," Farengar noticed Lydia, and spoke softly. "I thought the Jarl told you specifically to head to the Greybeards."

Vithar shook his head and answered in a hushed tone, "I have some family business to take care of first, Farengar. I'm afraid the Greybeards will have to wait for the Dragonborn."

Farengar scratched his jawline in thought, "Well…I suppose that's a fair enough reason. I'm sure they'll understand…then again, probably _not_. Good luck on your travels, all the same."

The Nord mage gave a small grin and spoke loudly, "Now, don't forget about Ivarstead! I'm sure the guards there need an expert dragon-slayer like you there as soon as possible."

Vithar nodded, catching on to the lie quickly, "Aye, Farengar! I'll see to it."

Farengar turned away and began to shout, "Hey, I _need_ those samples prepared by the end of the day! Get a move on!"

Vithar spurred his horse ahead slightly as he watched Farengar scolding a few layabouts while the rest were taking apart Mirmulnr's skeleton. Vithar felt the great dragon's soul slumbering, ever since he first Shouted. At first, Mirmulnr raged inside Vithar's body, struggling to escape, but Vithar relented, proving himself to be much stronger than the dragon. Could he be able to control _other_ dragons, though?

Especially with his vampirism growing stronger every hour?

Vithar bit back his worries as Lydia spoke up. They had passed the watchtower and now continued west on the path.

"My Thane, you seem worried," she asked tentatively. "Is it something Farengar told you?"

_Yes and no,_ Vithar thought darkly but shook his head, "No, Lydia. No…it's nothing. I'll be fine."

Fortunately for him, Lydia didn't press the subject. Subordinates seemed to act like that when it came to their higher-ranking officers.

Vithar couldn't stop from recalling a time where he stood in her steel boots, albeit Imperial-issued, as he took commands from an officer who seemed Oblivion-bent on killing every last Elf in his sights. And he followed every order. Every single one.

The golden eyes with just a hint of green flooded his senses. Vithar shook his head a little bit harder to keep her out of his mind. Lydia was too busy looking at the map with one hand, the other on her steel sword, while the reins of the horse she hated were entwined with the map-holding hand. She sighed as she looked up.

"This map is Gods-awful, my Thane. We're going to have to trust our surroundings better than a cheap map," she looked at him with slight irritation, probably from that damn map.

Vithar nodded, looking to his right, facing northwards, and pointed, "Well, from personal experience, I know Solitude is to that direction. See the mountain ridge right there?" He pointed a little farther to the right and Lydia looked, nodding. "If we can just coast right around it, hopefully we can make it just before the sun sets and the animals come out to join us."

Lydia studied it, and saw a furrow between the mountains not too far off, "Are you sure you don't want to just cut across that valley, my Thane?"

Vithar snorted, "Well, I may be a Nord, like you, but I don't like to trudge through snow. It's cold and wet and I like staying warm and dry as much as possible while here in Skyrim."

Lydia gave him a strange look and slowly nodded, "As you command, my thane."

Vithar ground his teeth, _Thane, thane, thane. One more 'thane', and you'll-_

A sudden jolt of pain shot to his heart again, right from his scratch on his arm, and the suddenness of it didn't allow him time to muffle a sound of agony before it ripped from his lips. Lydia immediately faced him, hand on her weapon and shield up in case they were being attacked, but when she saw Vithar in his saddle, gripping his forearm as he groaned in agony, she relinquished her shield to her back and let go of her sword as she sidled her horse up to him, grasping for his arm, "My thane! What's-"

"By Shor, if you say 'thane' again, I'll rip your throat out," he muttered darkly, feeling her heartbeat quicken in his head, just like the guardsman's did that very morning. He wasn't so sure if that was an empty threat or not…

Lydia tore off the gauntlet, Vithar protesting with simple commands that sounded mangled as they hung in the thick air, and put it in his saddlebag with little care as the horses neighed.

Her eyes widened as she saw the cut, and Vithar curiously looked down to see it. The veins in his arm had thickened, black as the night sky, and pulsed quickly. The scab had long since torn apart, but no blood poured from the wound. Only a sickly green liquid that reeked of burning meat. Burning because Vithar could feel the fires engulfing his nerves.

"How long have you been hurting like this?!" Lydia asked, dropping the 'thane' term for once. She let her grip go on his arm only to jump off her horse and tie it to a sturdy-looking tree just off the trail, and returned to pull him from his horse with a strength that Vithar never seemed to notice. Probably due to the fact that he was dying or something.

"Tha…oh Gods, _Vithar_, you have an infected wound!" she screamed as he fell from her grip like a damp sack, curling up into a ball as the wound slowly worsened. The horse he was on took a few steps towards its traveling companion as they both grazed lazily, unaware of the situation.

"Vithar!" Lydia shouted, partly in anger at his incompetence, and Vithar slowly straightened himself along the ground, sitting up on his one good arm to glare at her.

"Shut up…and hand me a fucking potion," he seethed. "I fought off magick-casting _Elves, dammit_. I'm too tough for a Gods-damned infection."

Lydia shook her head as she did as Vithar commanded, getting up to her horse and retrieving a medium-sized vial filled with a dark red liquid.

"You need one that can cure a disease," she muttered as she handed it to him and he guzzled it down greedily. "A healing potion won't remove the infection."

"I know that," he spat, fighting off the aftertaste of the potion, "but disease curing potions are rare, Lydia. I just need a healer. This will tide me over until I can get to a town."

As he spoke, the wound began to stitch up, flesh stringing together like an invisible string pulled them into each other. The green fluid that poured freely from his arm like a thick paste subsided and he wiped it off with a towel that Lydia retrieved for him, casting it to the side while Lydia helped him to his feet. Vithar swayed dangerously, but she was there to catch him.

The beat of her heart no longer reverberated in his eardrums, so Vithar felt as if the infection was settling down once more. The beat of the sun didn't faze him too much either, now that he thought of it. Maybe it's just his wound acting up. Not the vampirism. He gave his housecarl a warm smile of appreciation and straightened up, staggering slightly to his horse, and mounted it in a slow motion. Lydia untied her own horse and joined him as he rode on.

"Now there's no chance of us crossing that valley," Lydia replied after they resumed their travels. "We need a quick way to Morthal."

"Morthal?" Vithar asked, sagging in his saddle weakly.

"I know an alchemist there, thane…Vithar," Lydia replied, catching herself. "She's got quite a stock, and I'm sure she wouldn't mind me visiting again. Although dragging along a half-dead Nord like yourself probably isn't a good way to say hello."

He laughed, despite himself, "I've been like this way too many times to count, Lydia. I'm…more or less used to knocking on Arkay's door."

She gave him a soft smile, but underneath was an urgency that only belonged to grave matters like this. He didn't return it, only spurring his horse off the trail. Lydia sputtered as he veered suddenly across, and her horse protested, "Vithar!"

"I've got a feeling that road doesn't lead to where we need to go," he answered weakly, feeling his strength kick in slowly. "Besides, cutting across is how to cross the plains. Way too big."

* * *

The travels across the plain proved to be somewhat more relaxing than he thought. The plains were beautiful during the daytime, and his old instincts buzzed to life when he saw a herd of deer crossing through the short, thick grasses. He slowly dismounted, grasping his bow and silently drew his bowstring back with a steel arrow mounted on it. Lydia watched in silence as he crouched, holding his bow with such a steady hand that it never wavered, and let go just as a tall, majestic elk, brown as the grasses he chewed upon, slowly walked across his point of view. The slight breeze flew at him, hindering the arrow in its deadly pursuit, but still met his target, right under the antlers and through the elk's entire brain.

With a quick bray, the elk fell over, dead before it hit the ground. Lydia's expression melted into complete awe, and she stuttered, "You…speared it right…in the brain…how…?"

"Loads of training," he muttered as he stood up, brushing off his knees as he began to lead his horse to the fallen elk. "We're going to have a good dinner tonight. Got any salt?"

Rubbing the salt on the meat to keep it fresh for a little while, Vithar placed it in a separate, empty bag as he rolled up his pelt, still dripping with fresh blood and fleshly sinews, and tossed it to Lydia. She grimaced as she caught it, feeling the warmth of the once-living animal begin to fade away, "Uh…what do you want me to do with it?"

Vithar gave a goofy grin, "You swore to carry my burdens, housecarl. I do hope you intend to keep your word."

Lydia waited until he rode ahead to roll her eyes and place it in an empty saddlebag.

* * *

An hour had passed, and the two were somewhere in the middle of the plains, far from Whiterun, but also far from Morthal. Vithar had to down another flask of healing potion, now dozing in his saddle as Lydia kept an eye on him, his horse's reins in her hand.

To her right, a stone camp came into view, a place Lydia had visited several times before on raids as a Whiterun guard. Silent Moons Camp, once the home of Bugdul gro-Logrob, the infamous Orsimer bandit chief that led an entire army of Orc bandits against Whiterun several decades ago. Her grandfather was captain of the guard and, during the skirmish, went up against Logrob in single battle with half of a steel greatsword and broken armor.

Despite the awfully unfair advantage Logrob held over her grandfather, her grandfather won the battle, and earned the title "Broken-Blade".

She felt the history well up inside her as they neared the camp, and wondered who inhabited the deserted camp now, since Logrob's bones had been bleaching in the sun for decades. To her surprise, no bandits crawled like fleas around the camp.

Lydia slowed her horse down, keeping a hand on Vithar's horse to steady it as he slept, and peered ahead at the camp.

Her heart immediately began to pick up pace as she saw just what happened to the bandits.

A mound of soft tarnished-brown fur lay on top of a dead bandit, lazily chewing on a severed leg. Blood matted its face, dripping off its furry chin as bloody teeth sunk into the bone, effortlessly snapping it in two as it got to the sweet marrow inside.

"Oh shit," Lydia muttered.

A sabre cat had decimated the whole camp.

Lifting its head, the proud cat sniffed the air in alarm, as the breeze slowly picked up, blowing against Vithar and Lydia, and right to the killer cat. Lydia could hear its snarls as it stood up, kicking the dead bandit to the side, and stared at the two Nords.

"_Oh, shit,"_ Lydia's eyes widened in alarm. "Vithar…sir, you should probably wake up now…"

Vithar didn't even budge. Lydia cursed as she saw the sabre cat padding its way down the stairs, bright yellow eyes now glaring daggers at her. She gulped, and punched Vithar, who jolted awake.

He said something inaudible, rubbing his arm where she punched him, "Hey…come on now, really?" Lydia turned her head to glare at him in terror.

"Follow me!" she spoke. "Sabre cat!"

As she turned her horse, Vithar saw exactly what Lydia meant. The sabre cat began to run, picking up pace, as Lydia shouted, "Thane, you better hurry!"

Vithar kicked his horse into high gear and began to race after his housecarl.

"I'm asleep for _five minutes_ and you initiate a _sabre cat fight?!"_ he shouted as his horse galloped right behind Lydia's, who screamed back, "_I_ didn't do _anything!"_

Vithar cursed as he heard the roaring pound closer to his horse, and opened his mouth to warn Lydia, but before he could, his whole world lurched sideways.

Lydia turned her head back to see Vithar's horse being tackled from behind by the sabre cat, and screamed, _"Vithar!"_

She rolled off her horse and drew her blade, shield beating against her back, running to the horse and to Vithar, who tumbled head-over-heels into a nearby creek. The sabre cat tore apart his horse's back legs, blood and gore flying all over the place, before turning its eyes back to her.

Lydia gripped her sword's hilt tighter, taking a battle stance, and looked at Vithar to ensure he was out of danger. He slowly began to crawl out of the water, looking slightly drenched, and she shook her head to warn him away as the sabre cat roared, charging at her.

Vithar paled at the sight of the sabre cat heading right for his housecarl, and drew his bow, only to realize his arrows were scattered all over the place from the impact. His bladed weapons were on his now-dead horse. _Damn it!_ he panicked.

Claws as sharp as a finely honed sword dug into her shoulders as the cat attacked, leaping into the air and right on top of her. She tried to impale the sabre cat on her steel blade, but it proved too strong and heavy, pushing her right to the ground as it pinned her. Lydia could feel its rancid breath on her face, tasting the blood in the air, as the blood from the horse dripped on her chest and neck. Her thoughts were only of how she failed her thane, her home, her jarl…

As the cat reared back its head, jaws open, teeth bared, she yelled, _"I go to Sovngarde!"_

"_FUS!"_

What felt like a sudden strong burst of wind slammed into Lydia and the sabre cat, knocking the sabre cat to the side and off Lydia's right arm. She blinked once, as the sabre cat began to recover.

Vithar shouted, his voice echoing in her mind, "Kill the cat, Lydia! _Now!"_

Lydia raised her right arm, her sword arm up, and cried out as she felt the puncture wounds open up even more. The cat shook its head, and saw Lydia begin to move. She swore as it pushed her left side down harder, feeling the snap of her collarbone, and raised its right paw to strike her. With an excruciating wave of pain, she pointed her sword straight up, and buried it in the cat's neck, right as it moved to slap her with its claws.

The cat wheezed, eyes dilating, as it let out a slow hiss and settled, sliding down the sword blade as its life faded away. The head of the cat now rested on her bleeding and broken body, and Lydia struggled to push it aside, only to feel her broken collarbone protest painfully.

Vithar ran to his housecarl's side, pushing off the dead cat in one shove, and scooped Lydia into his arms. She groaned weakly, "Did…I…"

"You killed it," Vithar nodded, seeing blood pour from puncture wounds all around her shoulders and neck. Silently he swore and ran to her horse, which had run off during the fight, calming it as it bucked wildly. Soon the horse was calmed enough for Lydia to be seated, while Vithar led the two back to his dead steed. Scrounging around for the healing potions he knew he packed, he growled in anger as he saw only broken bottles.

"You have to be _kidding_ me!" he muttered as he salvaged what he could from his saddlebags, placing everything into Lydia's saddlebags, and tossed the meat out, seeing as it had been contaminated by his horse's blood. He mounted the new horse, holding Lydia in front of him, as he kicked his feet into the horse's sides.

Two badly injured Nords took off for Morthal as the sun began its descent.

**Sorry it took me like a week to post this. I had an idea of how I wanted this to go..._buuuut_ I kind of like it this way. I might incorporate some of my first ideas into the next part, if I can get it to work out.**

**But while I was playing Skyrim, trying to get an estimate of how long the trip takes from Whiterun to Morthal in-game, I really did cross into a sabre cat as it was killing bandits at Silent Moons Camp. It was so crazy, I had to put it into my story. I originally had Vith and Lydia attacked by bandits...but early in the game, a sabre cat can be a nasty killer.**

Anyways, I'll try and get chapter nine uploaded soon, so be sure to stick around.


	10. The Other Kind of Brotherhood

Chapter Nine

The Other Kind of Brotherhood

_4E 172, 18__th__ of Sun's Dusk, Helgen, the house of Hergi…_

Vithar brushed his thick blond hair away from his eyes, straightening out his new clothes, as he watched his aunt and uncle walk into the house, leading a very young girl by the hands. His face brightened up with a proud grin as his uncle placed a heavy-looking satchel on the nearby table. His thirteenth birthday was in just two days, and he specifically wanted his Uncle Derek to be there. Derek was a master blacksmith, and would aid in a special family tradition.

On Vithar's birthday, Uncle Derek, his father, and he would forge a blade, a tradition that all men in the family would take part in. But not just any blade.

No, this would be Vithar's first sword.

Uncle Derek and Aunt Malene greeted Vithar with birthday congratulations and well wishes as Aunt Malene strode into the kitchen where Drifa was, leaving the child with her father. Uncle Derek knelt to face Vithar, but, to Vithar's pleasure, didn't have to kneel too far. The tiny child with him raced to his side, shying away from Vithar.

Uncle Derek was a lean, tall Nord, the elder brother of Vithar's father, and worked in Falkreath with his wife at a smithy. Vithar's brother Ludvir was apprenticing there, and sent half of his earnings home every other week. Being a blacksmith was…lucrative, apparently, as Ludvir would send hundreds of septims home.

"You're almost a man, Vithar," Derek said with a grin as he clapped a hand on Vithar's shoulder, ruffling his hair with the other before returning it to the child, keeping a loose hold on her. "How do you feel?"

"I feel…" Vithar cleared his throat as he repeated his sentence in a deeper tone. "I feel like a man already, uncle."

Derek laughed heartily and took his fur hat from his head, long blond hair tumbling out. With a flourish he placed it on Vithar's head, smiling, "Just two days, and you will be one."

Uncle Derek looked over to the small girl that clung to his knees, and snapped his fingers, "Ah forgive me, your uncle Derek seems to have forgotten about introducing you two…you don't know who this little one is, do you?"

Vithar shook his head and Derek pulled the girl closer, "This is your cousin, Vithar. She's just over three years old, but it's been at least five years since we visited last, so you wouldn't have met her yet. For your brother's Forging, I believe…or was it something else?"

"Will Ludvir be here?" Vithar asked, and Derek shook his head.

"He's on a supply run to Markarth," Derek replied and Vithar shrugged his shoulders, a bit dejected. With the age gap, at least ten years between the two brothers, there wasn't much of a bond. But Vithar would have appreciated the aid of two blacksmiths in his Forging.

Derek looked to the front door, "Well your father should be back from the stables soon. Our…horse shouldn't have been too much of an issue for him."

The girl's dark eyes lightened up as she muttered, "Mere!"

Derek laughed, "Yes, little one, Mere the horse. Now why don't you say hello to your cousin, Vithar?"

The girl stumbled over Vithar's name before butchering it down to "Vit". Vithar chuckled as he asked, "What's your name?"

"Astrid," she smiled, suddenly shy. Vithar smiled back, "Hello, cousin Astrid."

* * *

_Please don't let her die, please don't let her die_…Vithar prayed as the horse flew over hills and rocks, the mountain range growing closer with each gallop. Lydia had passed out from the sabre cat attack, her blood slowly gathering in his hands. At this rate she could bleed out. They wouldn't make it, either of them. His infected wound throbbed with agony, but Vithar could do nothing about it. Not while Lydia lay in his arms dying.

The sun began to sink and he swore, "No! Just a little more daylight!_ Please!"_

If the dangers of dying in the wilderness weren't enough, there was always the threat of what lurked in the darkness of Skyrim.

He rode his horse harder, faster, as they flew over hills and jumped over streams of water, Lydia groaning all the while in agony. Winds picked up, whistling past Vithar's ears as the breeze grew more powerful as the horse gained speed. The hooves of the powerful steed pounded across the snowy terrain, past a group of wandering Vigilants of Stendarr and a shady-looking Khajiit in yellow and brown robes, and further still.

A distant roar rumbled across the rocky terrain, causing the adrenaline to pump faster into Vithar's bleeding body. He glanced for a moment behind him, and cried out as a bear began its chase after them.

"Can any beast refuse the temptation of following two dead Nords?!" he shouted at the sky, which began to cloud over the dying sun.

In his eyes, Vithar saw two options before him. The first: ride his horse to exhaustion and be eaten by Skyrim's wildlife. The second: prayer, and then ride his horse to exhaustion. Who could be in charge of the wild beasts? Vithar rejected the notion of bowing to the Daedric Prince Hircine.

There had to be something…something!

For a moment, the wind softly died, as Vithar raised his weary head and shouted in a futile effort to gain some divine's attention.

Within the space of three seconds, all of nature responded to Vithar, as if they were making amends for putting him and his housecarl in grave danger. A sharp reverberation in the suddenly dark sky gave way to a thick bolt of crisp yellow lightning, which immediately struck the ground behind Vithar…right where the bear was. A pained howl signaled to Vithar the beast's demise.

Then the wind picked up, this time right behind Vithar's back, pushing him and the horse with a bit of force. The horse neighed in satisfaction as he catapulted forward with renewed vigor, and Lydia groaned slightly, signaling to Vithar that she still lived.

"We're almost there!" Vithar reassured her, and himself as well, silently giving his thanks to the Divines above.

The rain slowly began to pour.

* * *

The wind stopped as they reached the edge of a murky swamp, and the rain died off as well, leaving only a thick coil of gray clouds that obscured the faint light of the newly-risen moons. Lydia had fallen unconscious once more, and Vithar's wound swelled with infection, weakening him severely.

Morthal lay just a few minutes away…and yet the distance couldn't be ever more perilous. Coupled with their fading life energies, the swamp held many foreign dangers that Vithar had only heard of. Walking undead, giant spiders, and slaughterfish filled the swamps, not to mention the Vampires that made the region their home.

"Guess one more wouldn't hurt…" Vithar muttered as the agony ebbed from his dying heart.

The horse tried to protest as Vithar tried to push into the swamps, but the Nord fought back, eventually gaining control of the beast. Into the swamps they went, with Vithar struggling at the reins. The horse snorted in fear as the darkness overtook them, and fog slowly rolled in over the swamps.

Vithar squinted, trying to find some signs of civilization in the area, but no lights met his gaze. He slowly rode on, clutching Lydia closely. Her skin felt so hot to the touch, but she looked awfully pale…

"We could die here," he muttered, half to himself. "How…ironic…"

The horse trudged through a stream of muck before suddenly halting. His nostrils flared and he whinnied in terror as they stood in the middle of a clearing. Above his head, Vithar could see the constellations light up the night sky, now clear, and the sign of the Thief shined brighter than usual.

"You look lost, traveler," a female voice crooned darkly.

Shit, shit, shit! Vithar flung his head around, sweat and rainwater spraying everywhere, "Who's there?!"

The darkness swam in his vision and he cursed his inadequate night vision as he demanded in the silence that followed his earlier question, "Speak, woman!"

"Ugh, you men and your misogyny…" the woman sighed. A soft thump indicated that she must have been hiding in the trees and slid to the swampy ground. "Got a light? Probably not, since you're riding in the dark like a damn idiot."

"Who in Oblivion are you and what do you want?!" Vithar held Lydia closer, trying to shield her with his own ailing body. The extra strain pulled on Vithar's arm, breaking the skin even further. Pain swelled inside his body but Vithar wouldn't show it.

The woman growled, "Jeez, what did I do? You're acting like I stole your sweetroll…ah here's a light."

Within a few seconds, the stranger began to click flints together, and chuckled as she caught a spark. Bathed in a faint light, Vithar allowed his gaze to refocus, and looked for the stranger.

His vision was wavering as he felt another attack growing on his heart. This infection was strange…but then again, he had never been scratched by a vampire before. No normal wound would grow infected so quickly like this.

He finally saw her, and his countenance lifted as he recognized the shrouded armor-clad Nord woman, who snorted in response, "Should've known it was you, Vit."

Vithar smiled weakly as he felt the heaviness surrounding him, "Hello, cousin Astrid."

And he promptly passed out.

**Between having writer's block and struggling in school, I've finally made a bit of progress in this, even if it's shorter than the last few chapters. Honestly, if it weren't for the many people who've been subscribing to this story, I'd have restarted this whole thing. But I think I'll keep it like this.**

One more day until the plague takes Vithar.

Astrid is my favorite character, by the way. I've been debating on writing her story. We shall see.

Stay tuned.


	11. Visions of a Dead Man

**Vithar belongs to me, everything else doesn't. Unless I make things up.**

Chapter Ten

Visions of a Dead Man

In a swirling mist of gray fog, Vithar straightened up to his feet, suddenly feeling the weight of a strange gray and black bow in his left hand and a quiver of strange black arrows on his back. The bow pulsed with a heat like a warm fire, without burning him. He looked down, and instead of seeing his leather armor, he found himself wearing a set of strange ice armor, which didn't chill his body.

_What in Oblivion is going on?_ Vithar thought to himself as he looked up and around, seeing only the thick fog as it pulsed, wafting around his knees.

The sound of flapping leather caught his ear and he looked to see three silhouettes flying right towards him. Drawing an arrow and nocking it to the string, he pulled back to see that the first silhouette had landed not too far away from his position, stirring the fog violently. With tattered wings extended, the silhouette shouted with a powerfully deep voice, _"Drem yo lok, Dovahkiin!"_

The second and third silhouettes landed further away from the silhouette as Vithar soon realized that a giant dragon, as gray as the fog, had just spoken to him. Holding his bow up, he made to release the string before the dragon shouted again, "Hold your arrow, _Dovahkiin_. I am no enemy to you."

Vithar's mind went blank. A friendly dragon? He lowered his bow and spoke cautiously, "Dragon, explain this. Where am I? What happened?"

"You are stricken with _krasaar_, sickness, _Dovahkiin_," the dragon furled his wings and took a few pounding steps toward Vithar. "You are in a fever dream."

"Some dream," Vithar muttered, scratching his forehead.

"Your fate is tied to the three dragons you see before you," the gray dragon craned his head. "Dragons of knowledge, forbidden and necessary, and power, great and terrifying."

Behind the gray dragon, appeared the black dragon from Helgen, its red eyes burning with anger; behind that dragon, a blue dragon, different from the other two, with a strangely shaped jaw, snapped at the air, roaring fire into the gray fog above. Both dragons snarled at the sight of Vithar, and the gray ancient dragon silenced them with a growl.

"And what do they mean, these dragons?" Vithar asked, as the fog began to swirl.

The gray dragon looked back at Vithar, silent and still, before letting out a burst of fire from his maw into the sky, _"They are your future!"_

* * *

Vithar jolted, eyes snapping open. He winced as he felt the familiar burning of sunlight, blinded for a moment as he fumbled around. For a moment Vithar's senses failed him, disconnecting him from the world around him, until his hearing came back to him.

The sounds of two arguing women alerted him, and soon the black clouds obscuring his vision dissipated, allowing him to finally come back to reality.

Astrid, cowl down, held her blade in defense near her body as she crouched to avoid a swinging blade. The owner of the blade snarled, _"You murderer!"_

"Funny, I didn't think murderers helped _save people!"_ Astrid retorted venomously.

Vithar weakly got to his feet, heart pounding in his ears, and cried out, "Hey! HEY!"

Astrid glanced at him and gave him a small smile before scowling, "Vit, tell your lady friend to kindly _back off!"_

Vithar looked to the sword, and followed the arm that held it up until he found her face. Lydia beamed as she sheathed her blade and ran to him, "You aren't dead!"

Vithar shook his head wearily as she gasped, seeing his eyes, sullen and dark, amidst his pale face, "No…not yet, anyways."

Lydia held him upright as he slouched, giving Astrid a panicked look, "You said you helped him!"

Astrid replaced her dagger to her belt and shook her head, pulling her hood back to reveal her blond hair, "No…I know what's wrong with him. A potion helped heal you, but it won't work with him. Not this kind of potion."

Vithar chuckled weakly, "Yeah, you'd know about this disease, wouldn't you?"

Astrid nodded once, "I know it's fatal. He doesn't have long…probably until sunset tonight."

Lydia cried out as Vithar sighed in agony, "We have to help him!"

Astrid pointed to the west, pulling her hood over her head, "Morthal lies just over this hill. Look for Lami. But…there's a bit of a problem."

Lydia furrowed her brow as she quickly asked, "What? What's the problem?"

"Seems there was a fire in town," Astrid muttered. "Took the lives of a mother and child. But…" Astrid noted Lydia's suspicious expression, "I'm not guilty of this. I have property nearby and was just…visiting when the fire happened. Be cautious. There's something going on in Morthal."

Vithar groaned as Astrid strode to him, giving him a warm smile as his eyes drooped wearily, "Do drop in when you can, cousin. The family misses you dearly. Especially Babette."

Vithar shrugged limply, "I'll see what I can do."

Lydia wrapped Vithar's good arm over her shoulders as she wrapped a hand around his waist, struggling under his height, "Come…on, you…_old man_…"

Astrid helped them onto the horse and bade them farewell. She smiled wistfully, "See you very soon, indeed."

* * *

The horse galloped with eagerness, Lydia noted, probably ready to get out of the swamps like she was. As the midday sun beat down upon her back, she struggled to hold on to Vithar's feverish body, but within ten minutes of the trek she saw a pillar of smoke rising in the near horizon.

Morthal at last. Vithar lifted his head, and chuckled, "What a sight, huh?"

The horse slowed down as the two Nords approached a sawmill, where three Nord men worked to get a log loaded into the mill. Upon seeing them, one of the Nords, a tall man dressed in a green tunic with a blond ponytail, clambered down the stairs, brushing the sawdust from his brow with his gloved hand.

He studied Lydia for a moment, "I've never seen you around these parts. What brings you here?"

"This is the Thane of Whiterun," Lydia said with urgency. "He's dying. We need Lami's help."

The man pointed to the left without a word and left the two to get back to his work. Lydia thanked him and rode across the bridge that spanned the river, approaching the shop just as a woman, dressed in yellow, exited the building. She turned to look as Lydia slowed down, and Lydia said quickly as the horse snorted, "Are you Lami?"

"Well…yes," the woman said, studying the Nords and gasped when she saw Vithar's ashen face. "Oh, goodness, he's ill! Get him inside. The horse can be tied on the post here. Hurry now!"

* * *

After they entered the shop, Lami had Lydia sit Vithar by the fire as she went to gather supplies from her storage. Lydia brushed his slick blond hair from his sweating face as Vithar closed his eyes in exhaustion, "We made it in time. You'll be fine."

Lami walked back, carrying a satchel filled with items, and Lydia straightened up, "Lami, I don't know what he has. But it's fatal from what I've been told."

Lami nodded, walking to the alchemy table in the far corner, "His forearm is very infected. I'm worried about the infection reaching his heart. How long has he had this?"

"Two days?" Lydia shrugged as Lami set out the ingredients on the table. "I'm not too sure. I've only been his housecarl for two days, and he was ill both those days. Today though…this infection is very strange."

Vithar clutched his chest in agony as he let out a sharp hiss of pain. Lami pulled out her mortar and pestle and put a skeever hide and a mudcrab chitin together, crushing it up, "He's in good hands, Lydia."

Lydia looked to Vithar as he locked eyes with her, and walked to his side, kneeling. The pain subsided as he muttered, "You're…free to explore the town, you know. Get a room at the inn…you don't need to be here now."

"I'm not leaving you, Thane," she stated. Vithar rolled his eyes.

"Then I'm ordering you to go and entertain yourself while I lay here dying," he chuckled softly. "Besides…you'll only be in the way of my healer."

And so Lydia walked outside, cursing under her breath as she left him to Lami's care. She looked around, and saw two of the three Nord lumberjacks, joined by a Nord in iron armor and several other citizens, yelling at another man who stood on the steps of a longhouse, decorated in the banners of Morthal.

As she turned to investigate the yelling, a smoldering wreck of a house caught her eye just ahead. A plume of smoke still rose from the ashes, and the ruined wooden planks of the bridge leading to it crumbled bit by bit. Lydia furrowed her brow, remembering the words that the assassin spoke earlier.

Lydia walked towards the ruined home, intending to reach it before being held back by a gloved hand on her right shoulder, "Hold it, outsider. No one is allowed there."

She turned back, brushing off the hand of a Morthal guardsman, clad in the green colors of the town with his face hidden by a light metal helmet. Scowling for a brief moment, she asked the guard, "What happened here?"

"A conspiracy, that's what," he answered gruffly in a thick Nordic accent. "House was burnt down last night. Found two bodies, mother and child, burnt to a crisp. Truly awful."

Lydia shook her head in disbelief as she looked back at the house's remains, "What a tragedy."

"The real tragedy is that Hroggar, the husband, moved in with another woman this morning," the guard said with disdain. "Not an ounce of grief for losing his wife and child."

Lydia's eyes widened in shock, and she muttered, "Sounds like a conspiracy to me."

"The Jarl hasn't said much about it," the guard replied as he turned to continue his rounds. "But maybe if you go to her, you'll get some answers."

Lydia watched as the guard walked away, thinking to herself, _Well…Thane Vithar's still out for the count. Maybe…this will keep me from bothering Lami every ten minutes._

She walked to the crowd gathered at the Jarl's longhouse, but saw that most of the group had dissipated, leaving only the man on the steps and two guards at the door. Approaching the man, she opened her mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by the man.

"If you're here on account of the Jarl's court wizard, then the matter has already been decided," he sighed in annoyance. "Jarl Idgrod has already decreed that Falion is a friend of Morthal."

"…Actually I was just wanting to speak to the Jarl about the house fire last night," Lydia raised an eyebrow.

The Nord's eyes widened and he let out a stream of rushed apologies. Lydia smiled slightly as she interrupted him politely.

"Jarl Idgrod could use a bit of outside assistance here," the man said. "I'm her steward. Please, right this way."

Lydia followed him into the longhouse, where a long fireplace warmed her bones. Lydia looked ahead, past the smoke and cinders, where the Jarl stood, facing Lydia.

Jarl Idgrod, tall and majestic, clad in the gown of royalty, stared at Lydia with cloudy black eyes. With a sweep of her right hand, the fire died down.

"Housecarl Lydia of Whiterun," Idgrod spoke with an eerie tone in her stern voice. "I have foreseen your arrival, and that of your Thane. The winds of fate have led you to my court, it seems.

* * *

Vithar sat in his misery as Lami hustled around him. In and out of consciousness, he saw strange visions. Blood, red and thick, sat heavily on his mind, edged into his visions, crept into his nightmares.

When he at last fell asleep, he saw visions of the Throat of the World, the great mountain of the Greybeards. In that vision he saw the Elven troops, the Thalmor, climbing the slopes in full battle gear, the banners of the Aldmeri dominion marching upwards and onwards.

However, his vision changed. From snowy mountains to deserts of sand, he now stood at the base of a tower. The Adamantine Tower, he immediately recalled. Where he stood, legions of Elves surrounded him, roaring their battle cries into the morning sky. The banner of the Redguards burned, millions lay dead, and the Elves marched toward the Tower.

In that moment, his mind traveled to the top of the tower, where the strange elder dragon that spoke to him bristled his wings and roared fire into the sky, right at the sun itself. Before the dragon was a girl with long, raven hair pulled into a ponytail, no older than fifteen, dressed in carved gray armor and furs, bearing a gleaming sword of green.

He awoke with a start, feverish and cold, and scanned his surroundings with concern.

It had been three hours since he arrived.

* * *

Lydia stood before the Jarl in confusion, "How…did you…"

"I see many things, many futures," Jarl Idgrod said with a smile as she sat in her throne, the fire in front of her brightening up once more. The clouds in her eyes faded away as she extended a hand to Lydia. "Come now, we have much to discuss in a very short time."

Lydia found her feet and shuffled to the front of the throne, bowing her head slightly in respect before she spoke, "Jarl Idgrod, if I may…I have heard of a fire in your town last night."

Idgrod nodded slowly with a sigh of sorrow, "Yes…so sad. The fire claimed a mother and child. Such a sudden and painful end to a wonderful young girl. My son…Joric, he was a good friend to her."

"I've…heard other things...about the fire," Lydia stumbled over her words as she looked at the Jarl's lined face, her wrinkles deepening as Idgrod narrowed her eyes.

"I have heard likewise," Idgrod furrowed her brow. "Rumors of a conspiracy against the town. It doesn't help that Hroggar moved in with another woman this morning. If you're here to ask me what I plan on doing, it's this…nothing. I cannot act until…"

Idgrod's eyes flickered and she leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping in a whisper, "Not until I get proof that these claims are true, and that Hroggar is guilty."

Lydia gawked in confusion before understanding the Jarl's statement, "I'll...see to it, Jarl."

Idgrod nodded, leaned back into her throne and waved her off, "Now be sure to stop by and visit the Thane."

Lydia was already out of the door.

* * *

Swinging into Lami's apothecary, she saw the healer rubbing a strange mixture into Vithar's bare, infected arm as he winced in pain. Lami looked up from her work for a moment and sighed in relief, "Oh, thank the Gods. There's a problem."

Lydia gasped quietly, "Problem?"

"Someone broke into my shop and took all of my vampire dust," Lami straightened up, placing the vial of mixture onto her counter as she dusted her hands off. "That's the most important ingredient in this potion and I'm not sure who took it, but someone did."

Vithar sighed in pain, "Just kill me and get it over with."

"Not while I'm still breathing, Vithar," Lydia stated firmly. "I'll find this vampire dust for you, I promise...as soon as I know where to look."

Lami walked to her counter and pulled out a worn map of the Hold, pointing north of the town, "Rumors say that there's a coven just nearby. This town is plagued with the likes of those bastards. Take out that coven, and my stocks should be replenished. Just one pinch should be enough for this potion though."

"Seems like I'm the errand girl today," Lydia looked to Vithar, and knelt by him, placing a hand on his clammy forehead. "Thane Vithar, I will return with the dust and you will be better."

Vithar nodded weakly, his eyes hollow with pain as he gulped in a bit of air, "Don't die, housecarl."

"Don't you die either, Vithar," Lydia replied as she got up and walked out of the apothecary.

The bright sun met her eyes as she shielded them from the intensity of the afternoon. Before her, the horse nickered in irritation. Lydia unfastened the horse's reins from the post, "We'll see if we can't get you something to eat, huh?"

The horse whinnied in response. Lydia smiled as she walked to the inn, where a trough of water and a haybale waited for the steed at the base of the steps. She tied the horse there and stared at the wreck that was once a family's home.

"I'll just check this out first," Lydia said to herself as she walked onto the rickety wooden bridge. Entering what remained of the living room, she sifted through rotting planks and cinders, starting in the far right corner next to the remains of their fireplace. The stones gave way easily, starting at the chimney, so Lydia watched her moves carefully.

Suddenly a young girl's voice caught her off guard, "Excuse me?"

Lydia turned, "Oh, hello. What...ahhhhh..."

As she turned, she gasped upon seeing a shimmering blue, almost completely transparent young girl, a ghost. The girl smiled and waved slightly, "Hello! Are you here to play?"

"By the Nine," Lydia muttered, hand at her mouth in shock. "Are...you the little girl who lived here?"

The girl nodded, "My name is Helgi. Have you seen my mother?"

Lydia shook her head, recovering enough to answer, "No, Helgi, I haven't. Do you know what happened to you?"

Helgi nodded again, looking down, "I...died. But...there's a problem. You aren't the only one playing. She's playing too."

"'She'?" Lydia asked, and went to ask another question before the girl looked outside her home, what remained of it anyways. The ghost gasped softly, looked at Lydia and said, "Come to the cemetery tonight. She'll be there too."

And with that, Helgi disappeared.

Lydia stared at the spot where the ghost stood for a few moments before shaking her head, snapping out of her shock.

This was way more intense than she thought.

**Part Two will be up soon. Thought that if Vith was incapacitated, Lydia should do the Morthal quest. Kind of puts her in the spotlight for the next few chapters while the Dragonborn-in-secret recovers.**


End file.
